


Stamus Ad Linem

by Davechicken, shesgottheknife



Series: Nunc Stamus Ad Limen Huius [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Addiction, Canonical torture, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Mention of paedophilia, Minor Character Death, Set during season eight, Set during season nine, Set during season seven, Set during season six
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 112
Words: 315,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1226971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shesgottheknife/pseuds/shesgottheknife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A demon, an angel, millions of souls, two civil wars and a deal. </p><p>What would happen if the Angel who would be God and the Demon who would be the Devil do things differently...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The spell to open Purgatory has the line 'Stamus ad Limen' which is 'We stand at the threshold'. This fic translates instead as 'We stand at the line'. Which was an accident, but when you get to the part where the AU hits, it will make a certain amount of sense... sometimes you just take serendipity and thank your subconscious for bilingual dickery.
> 
> Please see the end notes for all the chapter art. And [here](http://www.penumbris.com/SAL) for the mini website (WIP).
> 
> This work is now a series. The first part will be finished shortly and the story will continue in the sequel.

The angel and the demon walked through the strangely-quiet corridors of Hell, the only sound the occasional stomp of the line ever-forwards, underscored by the perpetual muzak of the damned.

“This is pointless. Your plan would take months, and I need help now,” Castiel argued.

“Granted. Yes. But just to show you how serious I am about this scheme… How about I float you a little loan? Say, fifty large? Fifty thousand souls from the pit,” Crowley offered. “You can take them up to heaven. Make quite a showing. It's either this or the Apocalypse all over again. Everything you've worked for - everything that Sam and Dean have worked for - gone. You can save us, Castiel. God chose you to save us. And I think… deep down… you know that.”

Castiel’s hands clenched, remembering the feeling of being helpless before Raphael. He was no fool: Raphael was the last archangel. Castiel might have faced off against the oldest and brightest, Michael and Lucifer, but he’d only barely managed to walk away from that encounter. He couldn’t just keep hoping his luck would hold out - that would be foolish - and Raphael was intent on opening up the Cage and undoing all his hard work. All the rebellion, all the free will… for nothing. Luck was certainly nothing to rely on, especially not where one needed some great strategy in order to conquer the enemy. But if this was something the angel was going to consider - _really_ consider - he needed to make sure that he wouldn’t be taken for a fool.

“Even if that’s true, why should I work with you?” Castiel asked the demon. 

“Why **shouldn’t** you? Come on, Cas. There’s no one else out there who would even be willing to have a conversation with you, much less offer assistance. I’m the only demon willing to help out your precious little Winchesters. I see the value in them, just as I see the value in _you_.”

“But how does this benefit _you_?” he demanded.

“I told you. I might be King, but since Lucifer was locked up… it’s been Pandemonium down here.” The demon smirked at his own pun. “No? Not even a smile? My, you are a tough crowd, ducky. But in all seriousness, I have no desire to see Lucy and Michela free. I’m not exactly going to be popular with them in the short space of time before everything ends… and I would rather like to deal with _you_ instead of your duller brothers and sisters. It makes perfect sense. It’s a marriage made in Heaven.”

But they were in Hell, right now, and Castiel couldn’t help but remember. Even with the dull sodium lighting and the lack of screaming… this was no one’s idea of Heaven but the demon’s. Still, he had a point. There wouldn’t even be queues if the archangels got their way, and Castiel didn’t know what else they could do. It was a minor miracle they’d survived this long. Maybe God did want him to work with Crowley?

“Dean must remain uninvolved. At all costs. He has sacrificed enough for this.”

“No argument from me on that front. Those two are - ah - formidable together. Probably best to split them up, at least for a little while. More controllable that way, don’t you think?”

It was not what Castiel had meant, but it was true all the same.

“I must consider this before I answer.”

“No problem. Five minutes are practically up anyway. Wouldn’t want to keep you... I know you’re a busy angel, spending all your time staring at humans invisibly must be so very draining.”

Castiel did not answer, leaving Hell for somewhere more peaceful to think this through. The demon’s honeyed, tempting words were too distracting for him to come to any sound decisions.

***

The demon was left standing in the quiet hallway, the angel gone away to do whatever it was he was so intent on doing. He’d given it his best shot, his most convincing argument, and the only thing left to do now was wait for the angel’s answer. He reviewed the plan once more in his head, searching for loopholes or something he might’ve overlooked. It was solid... in theory, at least. 

The angel was interested. That much was obvious. That and the fact that he wasn’t immediately met with a _fuck you, demon_ , or a hand full of glowing divine light. He wondered how long the poor bird would dawdle and whine about being righteous and blah, blah, blah. Castiel was right in that it would take months to find and open Purgatory. It certainly would, and he was ready to get this show on the road. He could probably do it on his own, but it would make life a Hell (hah) of a lot easier if someone was delaying Raphael, and for that matter keeping the human monstrosities in check. Crowley didn’t know which would be a bigger pain in the ass, to be honest.

It was also something of a risk, telling Castiel. He knew that he and the Winchesters were _simpatico_ , knew the seraph was particularly close to them. Closer, even, than he was to his brethren. It was why he had gotten on board the ‘Let’s Not End The Word After All’ train. That was the main reason he’d approached him, when all was said and done. There really wasn’t anyone else out there with the ambition, drive and capability to be as useful to Crowley… and he was just going to have to be careful not to let the Winchester-Connection ruin everything.

While he waited for the inevitable answer (yes, he was going to say yes) there was plenty to be getting on with. On top of Purgatory, there was still Hell to run. A Hell full of recalcitrant demons who didn’t know when change was good for them. Honestly! They were like children at times. 

The sooner he had the souls - and Heaven under his partner’s sway - the better.

***

When Castiel returned to the Tuesday afternoon there were - small mercy - no other angels there this time. No flock come to listen to his orders, but no Raphael come to give any, either. Raphael had given him a day only to choose to bow and scrape, or be destroyed. He supposed he should be grateful for that, but he wasn’t. Crowley, on the other hand, had offered no such time limits, but that became somewhat moot.

He’d thought he only had two choices: submit, or die. Neither seemed appealing. Submission meant the Apocalypse anyway, and all his hard work for nothing. He’d done dying, and although he didn’t remember it, he didn’t particularly want to do it again, either. Crowley had offered an invisible, third option. _Fight_. Resist. Win. That was what this was all about. After all, were Sam and Dean’s sacrifices going to be for nothing? Either submission or death would result in the archangels getting the end they all wanted. Was there even a debate to be held here? 

Of course there was: _Demon._ What place did an angel of the Lord have making a deal with a demon, anyway? Angels were not made to make deals - and certainly not with demons. Castiel should not have listened to the King of Hell in the first place. He never should’ve gone down to the pit with him. He knew who Crowley was. And yet… he gave him five minutes. Five minutes to the former King of the Crossroads to sell him on something he ~~wanted~~ needed. Castiel most likely made up his mind the moment Crowley appeared with the offer of power, but the angel would never admit that. It was hard enough to muster up the courage to fly back down to Hell and say what he needed to out loud.

But he was Castiel. He was - **was** \- an angel, and Crowley was a demon. He was a soldier. A strategist. He could keep on top of this. He could use Crowley’s resources, his souls… he could make sure the balance always tipped in Heaven’s favour. He was not stupid. He could do this.

Castiel went back down to Hell to make a deal with the devil.


	2. Chapter 2

“So… come to agree terms and conditions, have we, angel?”

Castiel wished he didn’t put quite that spin on his words. It was a mutually beneficial agreement, but the demon still seemed to imply something more when he voiced it.

“I will require the souls you had promised, and your word that you will not ask for Dean’s help in this.”

“Done and done. Anything else?”

“You already do not wish to release Michael and Lucifer, so I believe that is everything. But it should also be in the terms that the souls are split equally between you and me.”

“Already in.” Crowley reached into his inside breast pocket and retrieved a long, bundled up scroll. “Took the liberty of drafting it in preparation: I put the terms in before. You’re welcome to read it all, make sure it’s to your liking.” He sat forwards in his chair, offering the contract.

Cas took it from him - barely hiding his distaste - and sat in the free chair. It was long, complicated, and held far too much legalese. Crowley, it seemed, was quite the bureaucrat. He couldn’t even see any clauses or notes that were unwanted or deliberately confusing or tricksy. He hadn’t read any of Crowley’s other contracts, but he’d heard tales of the complicated ways the words could be used to trip the unwary. 

“Yes. This seems adequate,” he agreed, somewhat aggrieved he hadn’t found anything to argue in or out. 

“How do you want to do this, then?”

“I thought you would require my binding signature on the document, perhaps witnessed by a neutral third party?”

“Oh, come on, Cas. I’m the _King_. Even the lesser demons need an oral agreement - and I do mean that literally - but being King has its perks. If you want to settle this, we’re going to have to…” the demon’s head tilted to one side, and he made a sing-song whistling noise.

“...we’re going to need to whistle? You conclude your contracts by singing duets?”

Crowley’s eyes rolled. “No, you daft muppet. I’m talking about the horizontal tango. Making the beast with two backs. Playing hospital. Hide the sausage. How’s your father. Am I clear enough yet?”

Castiel simply frowned harder.

“Oh for-- sex, Castiel. Sex. My underlings require a kiss to bind a contract. You’re making a deal with the King, it means you have to step it up a level.”

“You… want to have sex with me?”

“Oh god no. Pretty as you are, you look as stiff as a plank and I don’t mean in the trouser region. It just happens to be the only way you can get what you want.” He tilted his head to one side, considering. “Still. You’re easy on the eyes, and I can show you a trick or two. Maybe loosen some of that starch out of you. You might even enjoy yourself. Might even crack a smile, though maybe it would kill you to try.”

“I did not come here for you to mock me,” Castiel said, shoving the scroll back at him. “No deal, Crowley.”

The demon’s tongue poked out, his eyes still grazing slowly over the angel. Castiel squirmed under the look, feeling distinctly… dirty. 

“You know you need it. My help, that is. You won’t survive a week without me, will you?”

“I will manage.”

“You wouldn’t be here, if that was true. So you have to bend over and give up your assets to win. Sometimes you have to give a little to get, you know. And I’m no blushing virgin… I’ll treat you well, Cas. C’mon. Live a little.”

The angel shifted rather uncomfortably in his chair. Brow furrowed, mulling it over in his head. It could worse… _much_ worse. His lips pressed into a thin line as he took in a heavy breath. He ignored all the warning sounds and alarms going off in his head that screamed: _This is a terrible idea_. 

“Fine,” Castiel all but spat. “You have a deal, Crowley.”

“It won’t hurt. Well. Not unless you’re into that, but I’m guessing by the constipated look that you’ve not done enough to discover the pleasures of a little discomfort. Come on: I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

“Just shut up and do it, Crowley.”

There was a snap of fingers and they were somewhere that could have been a hotel, but Cas knew better. It was still Hell, under all the nice, soft furnishings. It was still Tartarus, and the eternal damnation of sinners must only be a few feet away. If there was any mood, that thought alone would kill it.

Crowley, to his credit, waved him over to the couch instead of the bed. Cas walked over stiffly and sat down beside him, scowling all the while. He just wanted this over and done with. Crowley placed a hand on the angel’s thigh, causing Cas to jump. He tried to play it off, but there was no denying he was nervous. Crowley could tell. Hell _anyone_ would’ve been able to tell that the great Angel of Thursday was a typical blushing bride. He’d never even considered any form of sexual intimacy in anything other than abstract terms, much to Dean’s consternation, and he still thought it should be a matter of emotion, not physical need. And yet, here he was prepared to let the King of Hell touch him… all in the name of souls. Ridiculous.

“Cas,” he said, placing a hand against the seraph’s cheek to turn his head towards the King. “I gave you my word: perfect gentleman. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Castiel’s eyes wandered over the demon’s face, unwilling - or rather, unable - to look him in the eye. “Easy for you to say. Can’t we just… get it over with?” he asked. 

“And miss all the fun parts?” Crowley was smirking.

The angel rolled his eyes. _This is a really, really bad idea._ He was about to protest again, but was preemptively silenced by Crowley’s lips on his own. One hand stayed on his thigh, but the other cupped his face carefully as Crowley kissed him slowly. It was strange. Very strange. Crowley’s lips were soft and unobtrusive, a little stroke of skin to skin. Cas wasn’t sure why people put so much emphasis on this? It was just touching. 

“Relax,” Crowley said against his mouth. “Or at least try to. I’m trying to show you a good time, kitten. I could just wham-bam-thank-you-angel, but that’s missing the point…”

Castiel wished he would just do it, instead of this awkward attempt at seduction. He stayed perfectly still as the demon tugged his lower lip with his own, running a hot tongue over it. That was strange and sort of wet. Crowley kept teasing at his mouth, dragging his tongue over and over. Cas wasn’t sure what to make of it, and he opened his mouth to protest. What he did not expect - and probably should have - was the demon suddenly wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and slipping his soft tongue into his mouth. 

Okay. _Okay._ That was even stranger still, and the slick, squishy thing gently invading his mouth was curious. Cas was struck by the sudden awareness he could bite down and cause pain - demon or not - and he closed his mouth just a little, threatening. Crowley huffed in laughter into him at that, though, which was so not the intended outcome. He meant to be threatening, not teasing. The hand on his leg was stroking from his knee up and down, up and down, and Cas squirmed under it. It felt comforting and nice, warm and heavy. He shifted under the touch, surprised how slow the demon was going. Cas wasn’t about to suddenly enjoy this, he was sure, but if it made the demon feel more smug about himself then… fine.

Crowley pulled his tongue back, and then simply kept his lips pressed close to Castiel’s, his breath coming hotter and sharper, a little ragged. Crowley was enjoying this, if nothing else, but he could tell the demon was holding back, was waiting for him to reciprocate or at least to stop acting like this was the worst thing to ever happen to him. He wasn’t sure why it was so important for Crowley to feel like Cas wanted this too. Was it because he thought he was such a good lover that he could even make an angel fall, or was it simply that he cared that it was mutually pleasurable, much like their deal should be mutually beneficial?

Either way, Crowley was not going to let this finish until he was satisfied with Castiel’s reaction, so the seraph decided he wanted this over more than he wanted his pride. He lifted his hand at last - echoing the demon and curling around the back of his neck - and pressed in for another kiss. He was angry, though, angry that Crowley was forcing him into this so he took it out by kissing him back harder. He didn’t want soft, gentle lover’s kisses. He wanted angry, prideful kisses so he smashed their mouths together roughly, he bit down on his lip (he’d said pain could be good, right, before?) and when Crowley’s mouth opened on a groan, he ran his tongue inside, plundering the soft, warm depths like they were a battlefield to be conquered.

It seemed to be the right thing to do, because Crowley just opened up more and more to the kiss, and he moaned low in his throat. Cas found that moan to be strangely appealing, and the hand on the inside of his thigh squeezed. That felt strange, too. Cas decided lessons were fine to take, because he really didn’t have experience with this, the odd video aside. He copied Crowley’s touch and slid his hand up… and to the space between his legs. He hesitated only briefly, but then he wanted this finished so he could get the Hell out of Hell, so he stroked between the demon’s thighs at the rising bulge in his pants. Crowley was hard, and when he touched his erection through his clothing, it made him shudder. 

Still, Crowley wasn’t intent on sitting passively, and the overture made him bold. He ground the heel of his palm between Castiel’s legs, and Cas was surprised to feel an answering hardness there, pressed against Crowley’s hand. The touch to it felt disconcerting, and nice... and not to be outdone, he squeezed at Crowley’s cock and balls.

Cas growled as he was pushed back, the demon pulling away from the kiss until Cas let him. He didn’t want the kiss to end, because therein lay words. Cas didn’t want words. He wanted to get Crowley off, so he could get the souls.

“Either you’re a quick learner, or you’ve been holding out on me, Cas,” Crowley huffed, his voice even rougher and lower than usual. It was strangely… grating. In a good way. Cas found it sort of made his own pants feel a bit tighter… apparently he was enjoying this, too. On some level.

“Shut up, Crowley.”

“Kiss me again and I will.”

It was a fair trade, so Cas slid his tongue inside Crowley’s mouth again, surprised when the demon gave back as good as he got. They pushed and pushed, and Cas felt his competitive streak flaring. He rubbed Crowley’s dick harder, and growled when Crowley did the same to him. His vessel was growing increasingly hot, the skin prickling and his head feeling slightly swimmy and dizzy. Was that what arousal felt like, or was it simply hatred? He wasn’t sure. He was just sure the body he was inhabiting was reacting, and it was screaming louder and louder for more: more friction, more touching, and the happy ending Crowley had been so insistent on offering him. Cas didn’t really know what counted as ‘signing the deal’, but he was hoping that with enough rubbing the technicalities would be satisfied - along with Crowley - and he could find somewhere to wipe the stench of him off his hands and lips.

He froze when Crowley’s hand moved from rubbing to working on his belt - not sure why that felt like some of line he didn’t want crossing - but Crowley stopped, too, and they broke from kissing again.

“I told you: gentle. I’m not going to hurt you, Cas. You’re clearly enjoying it, so why don’t you just… lie back and let me show you a good time? Because I can. A _really_ good time. Pleasure’s not a sin, sweetheart. Let yourself enjoy it. Even if this is a one-time signing bonus, I’m still going to blow your brains out.”

Cas didn’t want his brains blowing out, but his vessel was screaming at him for being so reluctant: it certainly was enjoying the rubbing, and the kissing, and all of it… he had to do it, so it made sense that he got something out of the experience other than regret. After a pause he nodded, and bit down on his lip to hide the grunt when Crowley’s deft fingers pulled leather out of the buckle and pushed down his fly. They were just sitting side-by-side on a couch, with the King of Hell’s hand in his pants, but Cas felt like the filthiest creature ever to breathe. Was that what sexy felt like? Vaguely disgusting, but still compelling?

Crowley stroked Castiel’s dick slowly, moving in to kiss him again. He was met with more angry, retaliatory kisses and a distinct - albeit involuntary - thrust up from the angel. It was a small gesture and one that Cas was not particularly proud of, but his vessel was begging for more. Who was Crowley to deny such a request? He grinned, biting at Cas’ bottom lip roughly, moving his hand faster. The angel was hard pressed to keep his vessel from responding in such an animalistic way and he wanted nothing more than to slam the demon against the couch and continue this strange ritual. The only thing holding him back was that _he had no idea what he was doing_ , and he hated being so… on the back foot. The demon literally had all the cards here, and it was infuriating to him. 

Crowley sensed what the angel wanted to do to him, it was all over his vessel’s face, so he figured he’d show him how it was done. He pushed him back against the couch and paused, judging his response as he moved in front of Castiel. He was met with a bit of a growl and the hand pulling on the back of his neck for more rough, rather sloppy kisses. The demon’s own hand was back on Cas’ dick, stroking him hard and fast. 

“Crowley,” Cas breathed.

“Castiel,” he answered, reluctantly pulling away from the kisses.

Castiel had so many questions, but not enough courage to ask any of them. He was hoping at least some of them came across in the rather pleading tone of his voice that he would later deny strenuously.

“Are you going to ask nicely, or am I going to have to take your silence as consent?”

Cas snorted in annoyance. Consent? Where was the consent here? Just because his body was enjoying it, it was still only a deal, nothing more.

“What do you want me to say, Crowley?”

“Well, for starters, you could go with: ‘Please can I fuck you, Crowley?’...”

Brilliant blue eyes narrowed.

“No? Too vulgar for you?” A hand that stroked suddenly harder. “You want to do it. I can tell. I’m a good judge of character, you know. But it’s okay… I told you I’d be nice.” Then in a flash, the demon was kneeling astride his lap, an arm draped on his shoulder, and with a snap of his free hand their pants and shorts were gone. Crowley left their shirts and jackets and - for some reason - shoes and socks. 

“Just… do it.”

“Oh, such the charmer. It’s a wonder you manage to walk down the street with a mouth like that. I bet all the boys and girls are all so busy chasing you down the road and begging you to shaft them, aren’t they?”

The angel simply growled in annoyance, and grabbed hold of the demon’s hips, tugging him downwards. Crowley’s eyes flickered in surprise, and he let himself be dragged over Cas’ crotch, a happy little purr deep in his throat. Cas frowned and tried it again.

“Easy, kitten. I might be good at this, but let me at least prepare. You willing to get me ready, or do I have to do all the work myself?”

The angry look was all the answer he needed. “Fair enough. You’d probably cock it up anyway.” He snapped fingers in front of Cas’ eyes, and suddenly they were slick with lube. “This? Makes it go a Hell of a lot easier. Trust me. It’s your best friend, short of your own right hand.” 

“I do not plan on doing this again, Crowley.”

“No? Shame. You might change your mind in a minute, though,” he added with a wink, then reached behind himself to slip a finger in. The demon’s eyes drifted shut as he rose and fell on his own hand, his lips parted and breath panting. “Feels good, you know. Really good. Both ways.”

“I understand that.”

“I don’t think you do…”

Cas did. He was sure he did.

“Hold onto your handbrake, darling, it’s time to put the car in park.”

“I don’t--”

Crowley grabbed Castiel’s dick with the lube-slick hand and held him still, arching so he could move to press down on him. He grunted a little as the very tip worked in, and Cas hissed because it was a strange, tight grip around him. Without thinking, he rocked up as much as he could, and was startled when Crowley _moaned_ in apparent bliss, sinking lower into his lap and onto his dick. He let go, both hands on his shoulders, and just kept very still for a long moment. Cas wondered if he was hurt or just trying, somehow, to get used to it. Cas needed longer to get used to it. Crowley’s ass was slick and welcoming, and tight and hot, and he needed him to **move**.

“Crowley…”

“Yes, I know… I know... just… give me a second, alright? You’re a big boy, Cas. It’s been a little while.”

A little while since what, exactly? The last angel he’d sat on? Or the last dick in general? 

After a moment, Crowley was acclimatised enough to move like Castiel so very much wanted him to. The demon moved rather slowly at first as Cas tilted his head back, eyes closed. The angel had both hands on Crowley’s hips, now, his fingers digging in hard. Castiel wondered if it _always_ felt this good, or if this was something different entirely. He tilted his head back up to look at Crowley, who was moving a bit faster now, and was unable to stop the **growl** that rose up from his throat. 

“Told you it felt good,” Crowley smirked. 

“Shut up,” Cas spat.

“Oh, kitten, you’re going to be the noisy one in a minute, I can tell.” He was laughing, but there was no rancor in it, so Castiel struggled to feel as angry with him as he should. He was determined not to make another sound, now, just to prove a point. Just because it felt good, it was no reason to moan like a wanton.

He remembered he wanted this over - and his vessel did too - so he used his strength and the hands on Crowley’s narrow hips to lift him up, then slam him down hard. His little gasp of pleasure (damn this vessel) was quite drowned out by the mercifully ungodly groan from Crowley. It really must feel good. Cas wondered why it felt so good, but not enough that he was going to ask or volunteer to try it out. He did it again, and Crowley was left with his arms draped around the angel’s shoulders, purring out his pleasure against Castiel’s ear. The sound he made… damnit… he had no right to sound like that. 

It was getting harder for Castiel to breathe... especially with the demon’s breathy moans and the _closeness_ of Crowley. He wanted **more** and he wanted it now; he moved Crowley harder and faster on his dick, his hands merciless on those hips. Castiel still needed _more_ contact. He turned his head to the side and pressed his lips against Crowley’s throat, flicking his tongue out to see what that would be like... The demon’s growl told him it was a good thing to do, and Cas found he rather liked the way it felt vibrating against his lips. The curious angel nipped gently at the skin and was rewarded with a moan. Another nip, harder this time, followed by a louder groan and a “ _Fuck,_ ” from the demon.

Crowley took Castiel’s hand and pressed it against his own cock. Cas wrapped his hand around it and stroked it like Crowley had done to the angel before. The demon clawed at the tie around Castiel’s neck, scraping his teeth along the angel’s throat, nipping to show him what it felt like. The tiny sting of pleasure-pain made Cas gasp, letting out a moan of his own. Naturally, this only made him want to bite at Crowley harder, which he did. The demon growled against the seraph’s mouth, sending Castiel into an almost frantic state of **need**. He needed Crowley to move faster, to stroke the demon’s dick quicker. He needed to sink his teeth into the demon _harder_. He needed… well… he wasn’t really sure, he just knew he needed _more_ and he needed it right the Hell now. 

Crowley’s fingers laced between his on the demon’s shaft, urging him on, and Cas was all too happy to oblige. The firmer he dragged up and down that silky-but-hard length, the louder the growls, the more his lips tingled over the reverberating throat. Crowley wasn’t moving polished and smooth now, it was a writhing, grunting mess and he was now humping Cas’ hand and then screwing himself back onto his dick, ass slapping at Cas’ balls, fingernails scrabbling up and into Cas’ hair. 

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. Cas let go of his dick - ignoring the yell of annoyance - and suddenly flipped Crowley down and on his back on the spacious couch. That was better. With a foot on the floor, he could fuck into him harder, faster, deeper, everything he wanted to do. Everything he needed to do. Everything this vessel knew it craved.

His hands were on either side of Crowley’s head, and the demon had one behind his neck, one stroking himself off. His head was thrown back as he called out loudly with each thrust, with each slam, and then his hand was shaking and he was suddenly climaxing. Cas watched with some kind of sick, perverted interest as the demon’s face made all sorts of strange expressions - almost angry, almost pleased - and the hot, salty spurts that he pulled from his cock went all over his hand and splashed both of their shirts and ties. Inside, that narrow, welcoming channel tightened around him inexorably and that - with the fractured, laughing sound - was all it took. With a very loud _unf_ , he felt a sort of… snap in his own groin, like an elastic band pulled to breaking point and then the release when it finally went was exquisite. He didn’t know what to do except keep pushing in, pushing in until the energy sort of left his body feeling ragged and worn, and he half-collapsed on top of him, breathing heavy by his ear.

“W-wouldn’t have pegged you for the silent type,” Crowley mumbled by his ear, the hand on the back of his neck turned gentle and soft, fingers teasing through sweat-damp strands of hair. “Told you it could feel good.”

“Is our arrangement suitably confirmed?”

The demon lifted a hand - ribboned with his own emissions - and held it up where Cas could see. “A good time had by all, I would say so.” His eyes flickered closed and his tongue stole out to lap his fingers clean.

Cas felt suddenly cold, and he withdrew from the demon’s embrace abruptly. “I will need those souls,” he insisted. It held a little less weight with demon-spunk on his backwards tie, and no pants on as he knelt between Crowley’s parted thighs.

“Not even gonna stay for a cuppa?”

Cas did not blink.

Crowley sighed, finished cleaning his hand, and snapped them both clothed again. Cas was relieved to be back dressed, and he rose from the couch - trying to put distance between them. He still felt… over-hot and… dirty. Like his cock still held the lingering traces of heat from friction and Crowley’s body. Like he could still feel the strange dampness that had erupted from it. Like if he squinted, he would see the greasy smears left from grubby paws on his skin.

“Alright. Have it your way.” He pushed up to stand, too. 

Cas wondered if he could see a tremble in the demon’s knees, or if he was imagining it. He held out his hand, and Cas stared at it. 

“Seriously, angel? You were just all up in this, and you won’t even shake my hand?”

All this obsession with physical contact was ludicrous. Cas held out his hand and was startled to feel a sudden flow of energy from the demon. Fifty thousand souls, he’d said. It was a lot. It was more than a lot. It was more power than he’d ever been in contact with, and it tingled in a strangely addictive way as it flowed through him, as it settled around his Grace.

“I must go. Raphael will expect me soon.”

“Don’t be a stranger, ducky. Once you’ve started off your war, remember I still need you, too.”

But Castiel was gone without a reply.


	3. Chapter 3

“Right. Well. Dean is off the cards, but a little bird tells me he’s not the only Winchester rocking around topside right now.”

Castiel’s face was an impassive, unreadable mask. Crowley sighed in frustration. One - admittedly very good - sweaty horizontal tango and the angel was more bunged up than ever. Wasn’t even as if he’d been the _bottom_.

“Partners, Castiel, partners. You’re going to have to work on the disclosure thing with me, you know. If we start keeping secrets from one another, therein lies a world of hurt.”

“Sam is free of the Cage, yes.”

“See? Was that so hard?”

The angel looked even more constipated and angry, and Crowley shook his head. He’d thought a good roll in the hay might have helped destress the seraph, but it had apparently had the opposite effect. Maybe he’d be better if Crowley could fuck him instead? There was a nice mental image: the proud, strong warrior of the Lord panting and begging for his cock. Yes. He could live with that fantasy. Probably would enjoy it some, later, when there was more time for pleasure.

“What point are you trying to get to, Crowley?”

“I’m saying that the brothers Winchester are still split up, and Sam seems the perfect addition to the crack team I am assembling.”

“What crack team, and what will they be doing?” 

Clearly, from the expression on his face, the angel still had a close connection to Sam as well as Dean. Made sense, considering he’d barrelled into the Cage itself after him.

“Nothing they wouldn’t do anyway. See, we need to get to the Alphas - the first, the Ur-Examples of the monster species - until we can crack open the Purgatory issue. Now: who is better to hunt us some monsters than, say, Hunters?”

“Who else will be on this team?”

“Now, you see, the Winchesters come from an illustrious line of bloodthirsty maniacs. I’m sure you already know the Campbells? Well. Just so happens I have a few of them in my back pocket, so to speak.”

“They went to Hell. Get on with it.”

Crowley tsked. So impatient, his feathered colleague. “Well, Grandaddy Salt and Burn, Samuel… he was formidable before he shuffled off the mortal coil. All I need to do is a little bit of…” fingers swirling, “magic… and then: boom. New Patriarch, new dynasty. Technically old dynasty in a revival, but you get my drift.”

“I do. And you want Sam to work with his grandfather?”

“Seems sensible, don’t you think? They’re all so hung up on their family issues it seems perfect to me. And it keeps your precious Dean out of harm’s way.”

“Fine.”

Fine. That was it: fine. Crowley wanted to roll his eyes. This was supposed to be a two-way street, but so far it seemed he was putting out more than he got back. Well. If Castiel managed to keep the angels off his back and then played silent partner… it was better than nothing. It just rankled a little to be forever scorned upon for what he was. So he was a demon, so what? He was good at his job, he’d worked his way up the right way and here he was with the single biggest arsenal outside of Heaven itself, running something even Lucifer - the Morningstar - hadn’t been able to. He thought he deserved at least a little polite respect, if open admiration was out of the question.

“I was thinking we should also go through our bigger game plan, build in some contingencies and so on. You know. Plan for every possible outcome we can think of. Won’t mean we avoid any issues, but planning and preparation prevent piss-poor performance and all.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well, for one we need to think about what happens if Sam works out who the boss really is? We have to keep you out of this on the surface. Our arrangement cannot become public.”

“Would it tarnish your image?” Castiel’s voice was strangely snide.

“As King of Hell? Hardly. I’m thinking about protecting _you_. Not that there’s anything wrong in our little alliance, but you can see how the angels might think twice about following you if they didn’t understand.”

Those pretty pink lips narrowed into a thin line of distaste. 

“So… my idea was this. What if I tell him I’m the one who freed him? We both know he came back wrong. This way you don’t get blamed for the balls-up, and I can hold either his soul or a re-Caging over him as leverage.”

“That… sounds… strangely wise.”

“You’re not the only strategist, remember?” The demon shook his head. Why was his intelligence such a shock? Did Castiel really think he’d gotten to the top of the pile with his stunning good looks? 

“What else?”

“Well, we both need an exit strategy. At least... superficially. We need to maintain the illusion of being antagonists for as long as possible. I’m going to have multiple layers of reporting back, so the Motley Crue don’t realise they’re working for me. You, on the other hand, will help with targeted misdirection and misinformation, and keep me abreast of anything that might hinder our plans.”

“I see.”

“If it comes to it, can you fake being killed?”

“...not… really. Angelic death leaves a very distinct trace.”

“You mean you couldn’t… burn a little shadow into the wall or floor? And vanish?”

“That is not how--”

“Could you?”

“I… suppose so.”

“Right. Well.” A flick of his wrist, and there was a heavy, bright blade in his hand. “The one in my left sleeve is a fake, by the way. The one in my right is real. So you know to make a good show of it.”

“What would faking my death accomplish?”

“Sometimes it’s the best way out of a bad situation.”

“And your escape plan?”

“I have one, ducky, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Daddy always looks after number one.”

“I thought you said no secrets, Crowley.”

“Yes, well. Can’t ask a girl her age, either.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Sam. Give me his whereabouts, and I’ll have his predecessor pay him a visit. We need to get this show on the road.”

The angel nodded and - unsurprisingly - vanished.

Crowley wished he could get used to that.

***

Facing off to Raphael had felt… strange. Castiel had not wanted a war. When he had returned to Heaven following his resurrection, he had been ready to preach the Gospel according to the Winchesters: Free Will. Choice and liberty. A whole wide world and eternity to devote to love, to doing what was right, to enjoying God’s beautiful creation. He hadn’t wanted the other angels to fawn over him, to follow him around like lost puppies or children seeking a new parental figure. He hadn’t wanted the responsibility, the… _everything_.

But if he didn’t stand up, then who would? The only other voice in the Choir speaking out was Raphael. The only other angel with a message, with a plan, was simply repeating the old line about _The End_.

If no one else would stand up - now that Gabriel was dead - then it was is duty. It must have been what God brought him back for. No one else could have done it, no one else was more powerful than Lucifer but Michael… and Michael was in the Cage, with the Morningstar.

The heat in his vessel had burned. The souls - damned as they were - had glowed so brightly around his Grace, had loaned him a power that was never meant for one such as he. Seraph. Lower. Lesser. Weaker.

He had stood up to Michael. He had stood up to _Lucifer_. He remembered the adrenaline rush through his vessel. He remembered how his hands had felt clammy, how his borrowed heart had pounded within his ribcage. He remembered how his tongue had slid over uncomfortable curses. He remembered dying… or just before.

This time, though, he had been surer. This time he had inside of him a power he had never known. This time he had been strong and bright. He had been a force to be reckoned with. Raphael’s face - the look of confusion - had been immensely satisfying. He had surprised three of the strongest angels ever made. Two were gone, and only one stood between him and the peace he so desperately craved.

It was not just Raphael… with their leader cast out in a blaze of light, the other angels had looked confused and directionless in his presence. He could tell they had been torn between wanting to bow down to him at once, or to fight and resist… ultimately they had fled. _Submit or die._ That was what he should have said to them. _Follow me or be destroyed._ It was what Raphael had offered, and there were no rules governing a Divine Civil War. No code of conduct he had to follow. 

Instead, he had let them go. He had let them go and when they had left, he had stared down at the glowing sparks around his hand. The traces of the magics he had used. White light around blue. Shouldn’t it be red? Or black? Shouldn’t the traces of Hell colour his Grace? Shouldn’t there be some way to tell this was demon-cursed? Weren’t hell-bound souls somehow… tainted? He stared at them, at the flow of eternal life that coiled between his fingers… and he could not tell. He could not see sin.

It meant whatever they got from Purgatory should be the same.

This could not be wrong.

It _could not_.


	4. Chapter 4

“Come in, Cecily,” Crowley called out, loud enough to be heard on the other side of the door. The dark-haired demon pushed her glasses up on her nose as she entered the King of Hell’s office, clutching a black binder close to her chest.

“You wanted to see me?” he asked.

“Yes… I’ve been working on something that I think you’ll find very interesting,” Cecily said, moving a bit closer to the desk. Crowley motioned for her to sit, which she did. She placed her notebook on his desk, pushing aside some random trinkets. Crowley raised an eyebrow as the demon before him rearranged his desk to pull out an elaborate looking… something with lots of neatly placed post-it notes and highlighted text. He peered curiously at it.

“What’s all this?” 

She took a deep breath in. “Okay, I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’ve been hunting Alphas. So… I’ve been spending all my time compiling everything I can find on the Alpha monsters.”

“Really?” he asked, a hint of _’what could you possibly know that I don’t?’_ in his arrogant tone.

“Yes. Now,” she said, flipping a page over and pointing. “I actually have a location on the Crocotta Alpha, as well as the Rawhead Alpha. I’ve been trying to track the Alpha Shapeshifter, but it just keeps _shifting away_ from me,” she laughed.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Oh, darling… “ he said, shaking his head, suppressing a chuckle. “That’s pathetic.”

Cecily raised an eyebrow as the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Thought you’d like that.”

“So. What’s in it for you? Why are you offering up this information?” Crowley asked. 

“Can’t a girl just be ambitious?” she smirked.

“Ambitious is good… trying to take my throne, not so much. So, pray tell… what are you playing at?”

“Selfish reasons, of course. It’s something I like to do, collecting pieces of the puzzle and putting it together. Besides, I hated the way this place was before you took over. It’s organized now, which is totes something I appreciate… super OCD, ya know?”

Crowley squinted, leaning back in his chair. “You want nothing for this information? As a demon, I find that hard to believe…”

“Well… I’d like to have better resources. Easier access to information would be nice, but like I said, I enjoy doing it. Maybe just spare the firing squad should the time come?” she asked with a grin. 

The King of Hell eyed the demon carefully. “That seems reasonable enough. How long did it take you to assemble all this?”

“This old thing?” she said, pointing to the binder. “I’ve been working on it for a couple weeks. I really wanted to find the Shifter before I brought it to you, but he seems to be one Hell of catch. I found the Rawhead in less than a day. Just have to know where to look,” she grinned.

“Why don’t you give me the information you’ve got on those two Alphas and then report back to me in, say, a few days with something new?”

“Okie dokie,” she agreed, taking the two post-it notes that were on the front page and handing it across the desk to him. 

“I look forward to working with you, Cecily,” Crowley said.

The lesser demon stood, closing up her binder. “As do I, _boss_ ,” she smiled.

He looked at the neatly written addresses on the post-its as she walked out of his office. He called two of his best hunters and sent them to the locations. They returned with the Alphas shortly. _Oh, yes. This could be a game-changer,_ he thought to himself with a grin.

***

“Oh, Castiel,” Crowley called out in a sing-song voice, beckoning the angel to join him as he sat in his office chair.

Castiel appeared in a ruffle of invisible feathers, looking a bit agitated, “What is Crowley?”

Crowley smirked at the flustered bird. “Just thought we should have a little sit down, discuss how things are going… So far, we’ve got one Alpha. **One.**. You haven’t located any more?” he asked, letting his eyes wander from the angel’s down his throat… his chest… The demon snapped his head back up to meet Castiel’s again.

“How can I do my job properly if you keep calling me back here all the time?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow at Cas. “I wouldn’t _have_ to keep calling you back here if you would use your angel mojo to bring me more Alphas. I can’t do this alone, kitten, it’s why I offered the deal in the first place. Now… please tell me you’ve got good news?”

“Believe it or not, I do have other things I must work on… but I have a possible location on an Alpha Rakshasa. I just haven’t had a chance to check up on it,” he replied, narrowing his eyes at the demon.

“Well, let’s go check it out, then,” Crowley said, standing and walking around to the front of the desk.

Castiel looked confused, but didn’t take a step back as Crowley approached him. The demon was close - much too close - and the angel couldn’t help but feel his cheeks flush pink as he remembered the _last_ time Crowley had been this close to him. “You want to come with me?”

“Was I unclear? We are, after all, **partners** , are we not?” Crowley grinned.

“I suppose…” 

“Lovely,” he said, pulling on his overcoat. “Take me to this Rakshasa… or thereabouts.”

With a head tilt and a confused look plastered on his face, Castiel placed a hand on the demon’s shoulder and did as requested. They arrived in a neighborhood that seemed normal to the outside eye, but if one looked closer, they would see it was far from that. Crowley all but growled - he could sense the Rakshasa, the traces of its magic was so overwhelming.

“Powerful little bugger,” Crowley said, his voice low.

“Definitely an Alpha,” Castiel whispered much too close to Crowley’s ear.

The demon closed his eyes, chin moving in the direction of Castiel’s words, trying _not_ to focus on the hot breath drifting from the angel’s lips. “Yes, well. I’ll have Sam squared come and pick it up for us.”

“We’re right here, Crowley. We could get it,” Castiel suggested.

Crowley smirked at the angel, “What, did I get you all worked up talking Little Shop of Horrors? In a mood to smite something, are you?”

Castiel huffed, “Let’s just go get it.”

In a blink they were inside the Rakshasa’s house. Crowley held the Alpha in place with his mind as Castiel placed a palm to the head of the extra one, a flash of white light exploding out of its orifices as it inevitably gave way to the power of an angel. The Alpha was strong, and Crowley was having to put all his considerable focus into keeping the snarling, writhing mess of beast back. It currently looked mostly human, but there were flickers around the eyes, around the teeth, that said it was something older… something more sinister.

Crowley watched with interest as Castiel stalked closer to it, the angel all threat and purpose. He could see in the angles of his shoulders, in the way his head tilted, in the way his hands were ready that this was a creature to be wary of. It was strangely exhilarating to watch, because he doubted many had seen an angel in full hunt-mode and lived to tell the tale.

“You are coming with us, monster,” the angel snarled.

The Rakshasa laughed, hands clawing at the invisible restraint around its throat. “An…. angel and a… demon? What is this?”

“You do not ask questions,” Castiel said, and all of a sudden he had the beast by the throat for real, lifting it until its feet no longer touched the ground, pressing it hard into the wall and making it wheeze and gasp for breath. 

Crowley kept up the mental pressure just in case, making sure it couldn’t last out at the seraph, though he was increasingly of the opinion Castiel didn’t need him here at all.

“Sparkles here is right,” Crowley agreed, not wanting to be the strong, silent type. “You and I are going to be better acquainted before long.”

“What do you want?”

“Information, ducky,” Crowley replied. “Things that rattle around in whatever passes for your brain.”

“And in return?”

“In return, old Trigger Happy here doesn’t do to you what he did to your little dead brat. You do know that angel-fire really, _really_ smarts, don’t you?”

And - on cue - the angel’s free hand started to flicker blue. Crowley could not see, but he was sure his eyes were shimmering, too, and everyone could see the shadow cast by the after-image of his wings. 

The demon had to admire how gung-ho the angel was, how ready to muck in and get his hands dirty. How quickly they fell into the roles of good-demon, bad-angel. It was so perfect he wanted to laugh. Synergy, it was. A perfect alliance of force and mind. 

“ _You would not withstand my Grace for a heartbeat, filth_ ,” Castiel growled, his hand hovering over the Rakshasa’s head.

The beast hissed and wriggled. “Call him off. Call him off!”

“Come on, angel, you’re scaring the quarry. Why don’t you snap up some restraints and we can get him bundled off to join the others.”

The Rakshasa clearly startled at the word. “What ‘others’?” it demanded.

“Oh please, as my angel said: I ask the questions around here, not you.”

The Rakshasa growled wordlessly as the angel snapped on thick, enchanted silver and iron cuffs, throwing a bag over its head for good measure. It was an interesting addition, and more for theatricality than it was necessity. Crowley approved. This partnership was going even better than he’d hoped.

“Come along, angel, you’ve done well,” he said, clapping the seraph on the shoulder companionably.

He turned on his heel before he could catch a response, and snapped them all clean away.

***

Once the Rakshasa was properly caged and restrained with the other Alpha, the King of Hell and the rebellious angel made their back to the main room of the lab. 

“Very good, Cas. Job well done,” Crowley said again, patting Castiel on the back, his hand lingering long after it should’ve come away from the seraph’s overcoat. 

Castiel hadn’t noticed the way his breath caught in his throat at the too-long touch, or the way the heat radiated from the demon’s hand onto him. Heat that screamed for _more_.

“Yes. You, too,” Cas said, turning his head to meet Crowley’s eyes. **Mistake.**

Crowley’s hand slid down Castiel’s back, trying not to imagine his wings _right there_ , his eyes unwilling to break away from the angel’s. 

“I should… go…” Castiel said, his voice small and unconvincing.

“Yes… best be on your way, ducky.”

Castiel wasn’t sure why his breathing was becoming heavy, or why his vessel’s heart rate was rising at an alarmingly rapid pace. Crowley was feeling much the same, his tongue flicking out over his lips absent-mindedly. Castiel echoed the action without any thought. 

In a split second, Castiel had Crowley pinned up against the closest wall and his lips were on the demon’s. The King of Hell put up _no_ fight; to be honest, he’d waited for this moment since Castiel had finished fucking him into his own sofa. He responded just as aggressively, hands tangling in his hair, tongue fighting for control, teeth nipping at lips. And then Castiel was shoving a hand down into the demon’s pants and stroking his cock roughly. 

Not one to be outdone, Crowley shoved a hand down the front of the angel’s pants, grabbing Cas’ dick with just as much gusto as the seraph was using on him. The Angel of Thursday and the King of Hell were reduced to moaning, writhing wrecks as they jerked each other off with abandon. Whenever one bowed a head to moan, the other bit at their neck, throat, jaw, lips, whatever was in reach until they brought their head back up. 

Neither of them spoke. They were both too afraid words would cause the other to change his mind, would stop the heady touches they both craved so badly. Castiel put his head down, a breathy moan into Crowley’s shoulder before he sank his teeth into it. It smarted, even through the suit. The demon took the (hah) God-given opportunity to sink his teeth into the side of Cas’ neck in response, loving the feel of flesh in his mouth, loving the sensation of blood pounding mere moments away from his maw: he could press harder, could break the skin and flood his mouth with the coppery, warm tang if he wanted. Castiel would not die, but he would certainly hurt. 

The angel hissed loudly, jerking Crowley’s dick harder, rougher. It _almost_ hurt. The demon echoed the action, harder, faster. They were both panting heavily, so close to the edge… _so close_.

“Crowley,” Castiel **growled** through clenched teeth and a set jaw. He slammed his fist against the wall next to Crowley’s head as he continued to pull and twist the demon’s cock mercilessly. His hand punched into the concrete, the wall groaning in protest, the slightest of hints of the angel’s digits pushed indelibly into the fabric. 

That was enough to send Crowley over the edge, snarling out the angel’s name in the same, brutal, animalistic manner against his throat. He didn’t even care that he was spurting hot, messy come all over his best trousers because the sound of his name and the sheer, blood-burning _need_ in the angel drove him out of his mind. He humped at Castiel’s hand with all he had left in him, the name turning into a garbled cry, turning into a vague whimper of satisfaction as he slowly came down from the high. It was not how he wanted it to end, of course: Crowley had always prided himself on being a skilful and self-controlled lover… but something about Castiel just made him lose every last inch of willpower, and turned him into some mindless, randy little teen who just needed a fingertip-touch and he was creaming his bloody pants,

Castiel grunted as he felt the demon coating his clothes and the angel’s hand with his seed. That in itself made Cas come, pushing into Crowley’s hand, into the wall. Dear God, but it felt **good**. The physical pleasures, of course, but knowing he was responsible for Crowley losing control over his usually calm and collected demeanor? That was just as exciting, just as much of a turn on for the angel.

The two stood there, foreheads resting against one another, chests heaving, pants a mess for what seemed like forever. Neither one was prepared to move, to break the spell. Castiel felt lingeringly guilty, like it was something filthy and wrong… but how could it be? It was… release. Physical release, no more. He was an angel, and he was not supposed to mate. He was not supposed to find a wife to take in the name of the Lord, and produce children of her. He was not supposed to go forth, increase and multiply, for therein lay the Nephilim. An angel should not lie with a human. But a demon? Was that forbidden, too?

It was not as if this was… love. It was… biology. It was… science. It was… sensible. 

He ran his hand over the demon’s softening shaft, slicking the evidence of his pleasure over his skin. Crowley moaned and buried his head in the crook of Castiel’s neck, his breathing ragged and broken. Cas reached between them and stroked at his own, wondering... oh. Oh. Yes. It did still feel good. He was spent, though, and for all he could feel a faint thread of something underneath the exertion… it would be wrong to pull it to the front, now. Crowley was nuzzling at his neck, where before he had bitten. His lips didn’t quite kiss, but they did try to soothe the echoes of tingles, of pains. Cas wanted him to bite some more, but he couldn’t ask for that.

Slowly his heart rate returned to normal. Slowly his breathing evened out. Slowly… the fire somewhere deep down returned to a kindling heat, instead of a blazing, explosive inferno. Castiel pulled his hand away from Crowley’s cock, and took a half-step back. The demon’s hands followed him for a fraction of a second, before he remembered himself and straightened up. Both of them were dishevelled and sticky, but Crowley still somehow managed to look proud. Castiel almost laughed. A snap from Crowley and they were both back to their usual, perfectly-tailored and imperfectly-copied selves. 

Castiel could not bring himself to look at the demon directly, ashamed of what he might see in those amber eyes. 

Some witty remark, that was what was called for. Some cutting line. Some perfect response that would say ‘this is purely a one-off’, that would say ‘do not expect it will happen again’, that would say ‘this was a mistake; a terrible, terrible mistake’. Something only Crowley would know how to craft.

Instead? Castiel vanished. He was a coward, as ever. No amount of souls inside would change that fact.

Around Crowley, Castiel was weak.


	5. Chapter 5

Crowley looked up at the younger demon who had come to report once more. She was a smart cookie, this one. Ambitious and intelligent. He wasn’t so sure about her loyalty, but as long as he was the best star to hitch to… well. He’d be tugging her along on his coat tails, wouldn’t he? And this way, too, he’d have an early warning about his public opinion. If the rat left his ship, it was clearly going down.

“What have you got for me today?” he asked, appreciating the way she tugged her blouse further down, flashing just enough cleavage to not be obscene. It was nice to look at, and he let his eyes linger for just a moment, but he had no need to touch right now.

“Found another nest of Vamps, but still trying to find their Alpha. There’s a Werewolf here,” she said, handing him a slip of paper with an address written on it. “The Shifter was spotted again, but disappeared just as quickly,” she said, bringing her pen to her mouth, looking at her notepad. She tapped the pen against her teeth before looking back up at Crowley. 

“... You do know…” she trailed off, lowering her pen with a sigh. She really didn’t want to be the one to break this information to him.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, looking at her carefully. “I do know… what?”

Cecily bit her lip and adjusted her glasses. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors?”

“Enlighten me.”

“About Xaphan being…” she paused for a moment, looking up at the ceiling before looking back at Crowley. “Well… sorta peeved about… Hell’s newest ruler?”

“Xaphan as in _the_ Xaphan? The one who rebelled alongside Lucifer? The one who was going to set fire to all of Heaven before he was thrown out?” Crowley asked.

“...Yeah… that one…”

“He’s mad because I’m the head honcho now?”

Cecily bit her lip again, nodding slowly. “He’s just been running his mouth to his little buddies. I’m only hear chatter like ‘Crowley’s just a salesman, what’s he know about running Hell?’ and ‘Who does he think he is?’ Ya know, that kinda stupid stuff…”

Crowley sighed. “I see…”

“For the record they’re totes wrong. The changes you’ve made around here have all been for the best.”

Crowley grinned. “Thanks, sweetheart.” 

“You know it’s mostly just… chatter, right? Talk around the water-coolers.”

“It’s the ‘mostly’ bit that concerns me. I’ve been in Hell long enough to know there’s no honour amongst demons.”

“They won’t stand against you if you’re strong enough. And I’m assuming all this hunting…”

“It has an endgame, yes.”

“Which you won’t tell me.”

A little bow of his head, his hand held out in supplication, and that trademark smile. The one that never reached the eyes.

“Hey, you blame a demon for trying?” she laughed.

“If you weren’t trying, you wouldn’t be reporting directly to the King.”

The pen tapped her teeth once more, then was shoved behind an ear. “If anything comes of it, I’ll tell you.”

Right, Crowley thought, after you confirm your exit strategy. But then, he would have done the same thing himself. It was hard to hate someone too much when they were pragmatic and sensible. It would mean he would have to hate himself, and God knew if Crowley didn’t love Crowley, then who would?

“As ever I remain in your debt.”

Her smile came too fast. She was clearly crushing. It would only end in disappointment for her, but he could play the sexy, aloof, unattainable boss card for a few thousand years if he did it right. 

“Well. I better be going. You know. Data to analyse. Graphs to chart.”

“People to torture…”

“Only if they resist my wiles,” she almost-giggled, and then she was sashaying out.

Such a pity, really. Her meatsuit had a particularly nice set of calves - and beyond - but watching her go left him lukewarm at best.

He poured himself another glass to think about this new development. Xaphan was quite the rabble-rouser. Old school. Fire and brimstone type, and one of Lucifer’s favourites. Of course his nose was out of joint. It had only been a matter of time before someone stuck their head above the parapet. Trust it to be Xaphan.

He pulled out his phone and texted the address over to Christian. This whole plan was taking much, much too long. Maybe he needed to provide some incentive to kick it up a notch.

***

Castiel watched with grim appreciation as Sam dispatched three vampires with ease. His soulless nature meant he no longer hesitated. Cas hadn’t noticed it before, because it had always seemed as if the two Winchesters knew precisely what to do, and had no qualms about doing it. Now, though, he saw the difference. Now he saw what no moral compass did. Sam was a brutal, lethal machine.

He might smile and say the right things, but Castiel could see the way the smile was simply muscle-memory, was painted on to get through the day. There was no real pleasure behind it. It made him a better Hunter, but it was at too far great a cost. Did God intend this? Did He want Castiel to bring Sam back… wrong? So he would be more useful, or more easily controlled? 

“Castiel,” came the soft voice behind his shoulder.

He had heard her arrive, of course. “Zophiel.”

“Where have you been? We have been waiting for you to return to us.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because… because you stood up to Raphael, brother. You stood up to Raphael… _and lived_.”

Yes, he wanted to say, bolstered by the souls from the King of Hell himself. But when he turned to see her earnest face - so unlike Sam’s now, but so like Sam had once looked at him, another lifetime ago - it hurt, and he turned from her.

“I cannot allow the Apocalypse. I do not believe it is what our Father wants,” he said.

Her fingers glanced at the back of his hand. “Lead us.”

Lead them? In what? A merry hunt of monsters with sinners and the damned? If she knew what she was asking… if she knew the risk to her Grace… 

“I cannot. I will not allow Raphael to free Lucifer and Michael, but… Zophiel… you must all think for yourselves. Decide for yourselves. You must… _choose_.”

“But what do we choose?” she insisted, her brow creasing in concern. “We do not know how, Castiel. Please. Teach us?”

How could you teach choice and freedom? How else but say: here it is, do what you want? 

He looked back to Sam.

“Very well. I will need information on Raphael’s plans, on his movements, on those loyal to him. I will need to know how many would stand against him. I need to know where the strongest fighters fall. I need to know where the armoury is…”

Pale, the other angel nodded. “I will get this information for you.”

“Good. Thank you. It will be a great help to me.”

“And then… you will fight him?”

“And then I will fight him.”

He could see her wings stirring in excitement. “I will not disappoint you.”

“I know you won’t.”

He watched her go. No… if anyone would be a disappointment, he was sure it would be him.

***

Crowley couldn’t pinpoint precisely when the bird landed, because the tell-tale flap of feathers was dulled by the screams of the Werewolf. It was not the Alpha, but it was the leader of a high-ranking pack, and all his intelligence said it’s maker was the first Were. He didn’t acknowledge his colleague to begin with, twisting the silver knife in the beast’s shoulder. It would cause pain - extreme pain - but he knew where to put the blade to injure without maiming. The sound of ripping flesh and atavistic howling was particularly cathartic. Torturing newly-damned souls just was not as much _fun_ , because they weren’t as old, they weren’t as ancient, and they didn’t flash yellow eyes at him and give him the chance to say things like:

“Now, now, Fido. Who’s been a bad boy, piddling all over Master’s carpet?”

“Fuck. You,” the Were snapped, slamming back into the open, spikeless iron-maiden Crowley had strapped it into. 

“Now, now. I’m not into all that furry crap, Lassie. And don’t think I’m going to let you near my Hellhounds, either. Nope. You’re just going to have to smell them in heat and rut against the furniture like the animal you are.”

Crowley heard the faintest little huffs from behind him that said the angel was amused by his jibe, and it made him flush. Every artiste enjoyed being appreciated, after all. He pulled the knife out and started to zig-zag it down over the creature’s bare chest, clanking over chains and against the buckles, pausing here and there to snick with just the tip of the blade. The Werewolf’s chest rose and fell heavily, and Crowley did have to admire how toned it was. Not his thing, of course, but he was not adverse to a little teasing. 

The monster refused to speak any more, still fuming over the last insult, probably. Half the point of an interrogation scene was to create the best silence that the subject would be forced to fill. He let the knife slide down to the flimsy loincloth which was looking a little grimy and worse for wear. It had been the only thing he’d let the Werewolf wear since his incarceration, and he’d been given just enough water to survive, not to bathe, too. 

“When did you last see your boss?”

A growl, which he rewarded with a shallow cut to the hip. A hiss, which got a twin on the other side. He kept the knife close to the cloth, without ever quite removing it. 

“Come on. I know you feel you have to roll over and show your belly when in the presence of a superior. I know you have to wiggle your fuzzy little butt when he’s around. I get that. But if your Alpha is out of the way… what happens to… say…” he gestured with the knife expansively, “the Beta? Hmm. On the other hand, if the Beta were to come to some…” knife patting at the bulge in the loincloth, “...unfortunate, emasculating, _neutering_ event, wouldn’t that render him everyone’s bitch?”

“GO. TO. HELL.”

“Oh, darling, I did.” He put his face close to the Werewolf’s panting lips. “ _I run it._ ”

Just as the monster tried to bite out his throat, or scratch at his face with his teeth, Crowley pulled back and turned away to face the angel. The angel who was watching him with one brow quirked in a silent question.

Oh Castiel, Crowley thought, you _are_ a bad boy. “Come for a chinwag, Castiel, or did you have some latent Daddy Issues you wanted to take out on Spot the Dog?”

“I came to speak with you. In private.”

Yes, right. Like it couldn’t wait. Clearly the angel wanted to watch, and wanted to have an excuse to do it, too. He cleaned the silver blade on the apron he wore, nodding. “Alright. Was fancying a bit of a leg stretch anyway.” 

The blade vanished somewhere in his suit, and Crowley undid the straps behind his back, before removing the loop from around his neck and hanging the bloodied, white-and-red mess over the Werewolf’s head. “Don’t chew the furniture while Daddy’s out, okay? Good boy.” He ruffled his hair, then turned back to Castiel.

The pair walked through the hallway at a leisurely pace, Castiel turning back to look towards the room they just left.

“What is it, kitten?” Crowley asked, noting the distraction written all over the angel’s face.

Castiel squinted, looking back at Crowley. “Don’t you ever feel like it’s a big jump from running the Crossroads to all of Hell?”

Crowley smirked with a small scoff. “Was it a jump to go from a little ol’ angel to a seraph trying to mount a war against an archangel?”

“You have a point,” Cas said, lips pressing together in a thin line. He stopped walking, looking down at his feet. 

“What’s on your mind, ducky? You can tell Daddy,” he grinned.

“How do manage it all? How do you keep all these… underlings…. in line?” Castiel asked.

“Respect… fear… adoration… all of the above,” Crowley smirked. “Trouble with Castiel’s Army, I presume?”

“It is just that… I am not used to having to _lead_. I’m used to being given an order and following it. Not the other way around.”

“Well, it’s a big change, sure. Especially if people were used to seeing you as an equal or even a subordinate. But you have to be someone they want to follow, you know? You have to show them it’s worth their time. Reward good deeds, punish the wicked, blah, blah, blah…”

Crowley could not believe he was giving _leadership advice_ to someone who was next in line to Heaven’s throne. Sure, he’d buttered the angel up, he’d called him God’s Favourite, he’d tried to appeal to the angel’s inner sense of pride and vainglory… but he hadn’t expected the anxiety and lack of self-worth to be quite so… obvious? It was almost… sad, in a way. Castiel really did have more brains and balls than any angel bar Lucifer, but somehow he’d retained the ability to care. Lucifer had wanted to lead… Castiel was doing it because he saw no other choice.

And really, the demon felt sort of… touched? It wasn’t as if Castiel could go to anyone else for advice, but still… it meant he thought Crowley’s opinion was worth seeking out, and that gave him all sorts of warm fuzzy feelings in what might have once been his heart.

“I just want them to be free to make their own decisions. I want the world to continue to turn. I want Raphael to stop his plans for the Apocalypse.”

“I know, angel, I know. You want them to have the freedom they’ve been so long denied. But you’re not going to change millennia of programming overnight. They need you to be strong. They need you to show them they can think for themselves.”

“But they just keep asking me ‘how?’ Or… they want me to tell them… everything.”

“Slow and steady. Show them how you do it. Lead by example. Don’t get frustrated with them. You have to show them why your way is better than Raphael’s. I mean: you could change your mind, so they can, too?”

Cas nodded. He supposed the demon was right. 

“Come on. I have a bottle of Craig with my name on it. We’re going to do some brainstorming, and then we’re going to get plastered, and then we’re going to call Raphael names until you smile again.”

“That does not sound like a good plan to me,” Castiel argued, but only weakly. The traces of a smile around his lips.

“That’s because you’re still sober. If I get you drunk enough, _anything_ will sound like a good plan.”

“I hope you have a large quantity of alcohol, then, because I am not a… how do you say it? ‘Lightweight’...”

“For you, I have all the Long Island Iced Tea in China.”

“But it does not--”

“Just shut up and follow me.”

So Castiel did.


	6. Chapter 6

“Sit,” Crowley said, and waved at the chair opposite his desk. “Please.” It was not a request.

The other demon knew enough to obey, and he slid into the chair, though his eyes were wary and he seemed ready to bolt at any moment. Really? That was how this was going to play?

“Nice office you have here.”

“Yes. It is nice. And it’s staying mine. You might have stepped into my old shoes, but that’s where it ends, Scotius.” Or you end.

“Hey, boss, I like the job I got now plenty.”

“A little too well, it seems.”

The other demon tried to keep his gaze, but eventually the King’s implacable stare was too much, and he blinked first. “I don’t want your job, Crowley.”

“Then why are you making my job difficult for me?”

“You know what’s happening. You have to know what’s happening.”

“You mean Xaphan and his Merry Band of Morons?” Crowley waited for an apology. An explanation. Anything. “Yes, I am aware they intend to stage a coup.”

“So you see why I’m remaining impartial.”

“Impartial? What are you, bloody Switzerland? This is _Hell_ , ducky. Hell. Not Continental Europe. You’re not supposed to sit on the gold reserves when there’s a war, you’re supposed to line the coffers of the demon who brought you up from nothing and gave you _everything_.” Crowley was trying very hard to sound level and reasonable, rational and calm… but really? It stung. 

There were not many people in this afterlife he even remotely trusted, but Scotius? He’d taken a shining to the young thing. He’d shown a flair for salesmanship, and he’d had a solid head on his shoulders, and he’d known where to draw the line in contractual tweaking, and… he’d just been right for the job. Not quite as good at it as Crowley himself had been, of course, but maybe with a few thousand years or so of practice… but oh, how the Apprentice would rise and try to slay the Master, he supposed.

“Xaphan is a soldier, Crowley. You might be good at talking people around, but Xaphan has the… military expertise you lack. Demons crave a strong leader. They like force, and they like violence and they like Lucifer.”

A thump of hand to desk. “Lucifer would see every demon turned to smoke, as soon as he looked at them, if they didn’t serve his purpose.”

“He is very charming,” Scotius went on. “You know that. You can tell them until you are blue in the face that he thinks they’re scum, but they are so… enamoured with his light and his cruelty that they would throw themselves from a cliff if they thought it would make him smile.”

Bloody Stockholm Syndrome. Lucifer was the abusive father all too many demons had had the first time around, too. 

“I thought you, for one, would know better.”

“I do… I do. But I can’t tell which way the wind is blowing. You always did teach me to cover my own ass first, Crowley.”

“NOT BY HIDING MY SOULS FROM ME!”

He rarely raised his voice. Rarely lost his temper. But now? Now he did. He’d trusted Scotius - as much as any demon would trust another - given him his old _job_ for pity’s sake… and how did he repay him?

“Relax. They’re still Hell-bound. They’re just… taking the scenic route. Til I can see where they need to go.”

“They need. To go. To me. How is this not clear?”

“And if you lose?”

“ **And when I win?** ”

“Then you will get all the souls I’ve saved up as a victory gift.”

“They are not yours to give or take. They belong to me, Scotius. All of Hell belongs to me.”

The thin-lipped smile on that bastard’s face made Crowley’s blood boil. “We’ll see. I’m sorry. I _want_ you to win, but--”

“But what?”

“If you don’t? I want to live.”

“And what’s stopping me from killing you right now?”

“The knowledge that if you do, all the contracted souls will go straight to Xaphan.”

“And what if I do win without them?”

“Honestly? I’ll cross that bridge at the time. But you’re going to need to be careful. With less new recruits coming in, there’s less new minds to warp. The strongest will survive, and those are the old guard. And without anyone new to work on… they’re going to turn on one another.”

“And you really think causing _more_ unrest is wise, at this point? For anyone?”

Scotius shrugged. “You’re the King, boss.”

The younger demon as up and headed for the door as fast as he could. Crowley let him go, slamming the door hard as Scotius ran out. He grinned at the yelp that came from the other side as he was certain the door had smacked the little punk right in his ass.

The King of Hell leaned back in his chair, deep in thought… Oh, he was the boss alright. But… it was becoming increasingly clear it was more of a job than he’d thought it would be.

***

The Shapeshifter was a tough beast, but Castiel knew he had to let Sam and Samuel take it down. They had been hunting it for weeks now, drip-fed intel that Crowley provided, as the honed in on their quarry. It would make no sense for him to try and catch it himself, and he had better - more important - things to worry about. Like Heaven. Like how Zophiel’s reports of the state of the Garden grew more and more worrying as the days went on. Like how there were tales of angel-on-angel violence, and no one knew where the weapons were… and he and Crowley seemed no closer to finding the way in to Purgatory.

Castiel - the angel at the head of the angel rebellion - had no right being in this grimy alley in downtown New Orleans watching with mounting distress as Sam Winchester alone faced off against the Alpha Shapeshifter. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Even now, he couldn’t bring himself to abandon the charges he’d been set to look after: Michael’s Sword the Righteous Man, and Lucifer’s Broken Star. They were still his charges, but they were more than that. They were his role models, and he wanted to make sure they were safe at all costs.

He almost broke his self-imposed silence when the monster had Sam by the throat. Sam gouged at its eyes and kicked it in the groin, buying himself some time. Castiel was proud. Sam was strong.

But the Shifter was stronger… and though Sam cried out for help, it was on top of him and tossing him against the wall like he weighed nothing. There was a sickening crack and Sam was out for the count. Castiel watched with mounting horror as the beast bore down on him, as it prepared to snap his neck… and he flared his wings out with a territorial snarl.

The Shifter turned to face him, and Castiel was about to lay all the power of God into it when he heard a shocked sound from behind in a familiar voice. Oh… oh no… _Samuel_. Castiel was so surprised by the Hunter approaching him that when he turned back, the Shifter had gone.

“What in the **Hell** are you?” Samuel snarled at him.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, and slammed a hand to the Hunter’s head, wiping his memory and pushing in thoughts of a confusing fight, and a near-death experience. It was hastily done, but it was all he could think of. He dropped to one knee and ran a finger over the younger Hunter’s head to blank out all his memories, too. If either of them remembered enough, he might be discovered and he would rather the hunt for the Shifter started from scratch - for them, at least - than risk exposing himself. Convinced that Sam would come to no further harm, and hearing the first groans of stirring, he vanished into the ether.

He’d really fucked up. Really.

***

Cecily finally settled on the placement of the faux security camera monitors Crowley had given her, lining them up oh-so-carefully. _Perfect._ She turned them all on, sat back, and admired her work. They had all been set up in locations of suspected Alpha activity. She brought her chair closer to her desk and began typing up her weekly report for Crowley when rapid movement caught her eye on one of the monitors. 

She turned her full attention to the screen and saw Sam Winchester flying into a wall. She grabbed her phone - about to call Crowley - when…

“What the **Hell**?” she said quietly. “Is that--” she watched intently as an angel - Castiel, she knew from research - appeared, followed by a very confused Samuel Campbell. 

The Shifter slipped away when the angel turned to face the man. Cecily scrambled to find the audio button so she could hear what was said. It was rather difficult as she refused to take her eyes off the screen. She got it just in time to hear nothing as Castiel vanished. 

She took in a deep breath and texted Crowley: _I got something you NEED to see._

Crowley appeared only a few seconds later. “What is so important that I needed to grace you with my presence, sweetheart?”

“ _An angel…”_ she said with a grin. “A very real, _very attractive_ **angel**.”

“You don’t say…” he said, voice level toned, even though the words _very attractive_ made him bristle with anger. _Of course he’s attractive… that’s no bloody reason to say it aloud…_

“Oh, I do… watch this,” she smiled, replaying the video from just moments before. She watched his face carefully for his reaction.

“Well… isn’t that convenient?” Crowley quipped. 

Cecily looked at him, her mouth open. “You _knew_!” she gasped. “You’ve got an angel on the payroll!” She shook her head. “Genius… absolute genius. How’d you get him to come to the Dark Side, Lord Vader?” she said, hands on her hips.

“It’s all about connections, darling. You know that…” Crowley answered.

Cecily looked at him for a moment, the King of Hell’s eyes flicking back to the screen where moments ago Castiel had been spotted. Cecily folded her arms in front of her chest. “There’s more to this than you’re letting on isn’t there?”

“What are you on about?”

Cecily scoffed and bit her lip, looking up at the ceiling and then back to Crowley, shaking her head. “An angel just wouldn’t _help_ a demon… and certainly not the King, no offense… and the rumour around the feathered world is that Castiel’s had some major power boost… or that he held out for, you know, thousands of years which is totes unlikely if you ask **me**. You’re helping _him_ , too, aren’t you?”

_Damn_ , but Cecily was impressive. Crowley wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. He knew she was good, but… or was it that he was _that_ obvious? No… he couldn’t be… could he?

“Don’t worry, boss. I’ll keep it on the DL,” she reassured him. “I’ll also destroy this footage, just in case,” she smiled, giving him a wink.

“Yes, you do that. And if you utter a squeak about this…”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll make sure no one ever suspects a thing.”

Dangerous, she was. Dangerous but oh-so-very useful, too.

***

Although Sam was in more danger than Dean, Castiel watched over them both. Dean had been shattered when he showed up on Lisa’s doorstep; Cas had watched the entire thing. It broke his heart to see, but he could take some comfort in the fact that Lisa truly did seem to be good for him. It didn’t stop Dean from drinking, and it definitely didn’t stop the nightmares that plagued the eldest Winchester whenever he closed his eyes. 

Many a night, the angel watched from the corner of the bedroom - forbidden to do anything else - as Dean’s screams woke everyone in the house (and, on occasion, the neighbors, as well). His bellows frequently echoed the ones the seraph had heard barreling over his lips from deep within, back when Cas had flown into Hell to rescue the Righteous Man. 

The angel learned so much from observing. For example: Dean never confided in Lisa, not really. He didn’t like to talk about Castiel’s handprints on his arms, or what he used to do, or who he claimed he ‘used to’ be. He didn’t like to talk about a lot of things, Cas found. This was not surprising in the least, because the only person Dean had ever been Dean around was Sam. Without Sam, it was like he was half alive.

This particular night Cas was standing in the corner, in his usual place, watching over his charge. He was strenuously avoiding being around Sam, after nearly blowing his cover, and he was feeling guilty about not coming to see the elder brother as much. As he watched, Dean sat straight up in bed, looking at the exact spot where the angel stood. For a moment Castiel thought perhaps he’d been careless and he had let himself be seen.

“Cas!” Dean _screamed_. Screamed like he had cried out for Sam in Hell, like when he had called out for a saviour who wouldn’t come to remove him from the giant meat hooks that dug deep into his shoulders, from the torment and the misery. Something about it shook Castiel to the core. The angel left in a hurried, silent flap of the wings that had once carried them both from Perdition.

Castiel went to the only person he could think of for comfort… The King of Hell.

***

It took a lot to get the King of Hell drunk, but it could be done. Which is precisely what Crowley had spent the last… however many hours doing. By the time the angel showed up, Crowley was already piss-drunk and bleary-eyed, and he held up his glass in salute. 

“Angel!” he slurred. “So nice of you to drop by.”

Castiel squinted at the demon. “Crowley… what’s going on?”

“Apparently a lot more than I realized.”

“What do you mean?” the angel asked, tilting his head. 

“Betrayal… fear… you know people are actually plotting to open that Cage? Demons, as well as angels? Well… I assume so, anyway…” another sip.

Castiel moved in front of Crowley, taking the glass from his hand. He gave it a sniff, turning up his nose. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Enough, apparently, if you’re cutting me off...’

Castiel frowned at the demon. “What’s going on, Crowley?”

“Scotius: that jumped-up little arsewipe. He’s hoarding souls! He’s just sitting on them! I should nail him to the wall by his sadly empty scrotum. I think maybe they missed a few letters out when they named him, the--” 

“Crowley,” Cas interrupted. 

“What am I supposed to do, angel? Just… Hell, I don’t know,” he said, head falling back against the couch he sat on.

The seraph frowned, sitting on the couch next to the King of Hell. He placed a hand on his knee in what he hoped was a comforting way. “You are strong, Crowley. Are you really scared of a lower level demon taking your throne from you?”

“That’s _precisely_ what I did, Cas… or did you forget?” he said, closing his eyes to try to stop the room from spinning. 

“I did not. I’m just pointing out that you’re not the same as other demons. You’re different. You’re stronger… more intelligent…”

“Well don’t stop there, ducky. You’re just getting to the good parts,” he grinned, opening his eyes and slowly raising his head from the back of the couch, even though the slightly out-of-focus angel sort of glowed with the annoying halo of ethanol.

“You shouldn’t worry about it, Crowley. I think you know that deep down… so if you’re not worried about him taking your throne, what _are_ you upset about?”

“I trusted the prat. And here is is, keeping _my_ souls for himself.”

“ _Your_ souls?”

“Yes. Mine. Hell is mine, it all belongs to me. The souls belong to Hell: ergo, the souls belong to **me**.”

“When we open Purgatory, you will have many more souls than he could possibly withhold.”

“Not the bloody point, kitten. They’re… mine! Mine. Not his. Mine.”

Castiel swirled the trace amount of amber liquid around in the tumbler. “It used to be your job, did it not?”

Crowley sighed. What was the point in denying? “Yes. My old job. Where I made my name and cut my teeth. Where I learned it was every demon for himself.” Where I made sure as Hell I kept every deal I ever made, he thought. It had been an unspoken contract between him and Scotius: you get my old job, and I get the souls. Only… verbal contracts weren’t worth the paper they weren’t printed on. He should have known that. Should have remembered.

“So it meant something to give it to him. And now he has betrayed you.”

Crowley squinted at Castiel for a moment before letting his head drop back once more against the leather. It was true, but it still hurt to hear even the socially-inept angel work it out… but of course he would. He would, because Crowley was more… himself? Than he was around anyone else. Even the demons he half-trusted, or half-liked… they were demons. And they would all slit his throat if it served their purpose. They would sell him down the river, they would salt and burn without a second thought. How could you ever hope to be open around creatures as selfish as demons could be?

Confessing to an angel was at once the most stupid, and the most… strangely sensible he thing he’d ever done. And Castiel? Sort of… made him _want_ to. Made him want to talk. Made him want to explain himself, to let himself be… known? 

It was a huge risk, but he’d started, now, and he didn’t seem able to stop. Castiel knew things about him that no other creature did. He had a power over him, a power Crowley had willingly given up. It terrified and exhilarated him in equal measure.

And fuck. He was drunk. And waxing poetic over what was hardly a Sherlock-level deduction, all things considered. Drunk and telegraphing his thoughts and worries like a bloody wangsting teenager writing about her crush on her blog. That was Crowley, right now. King of Hell indeed.

“You have had too much to drink, Crowley,” Castiel said, and put the glass well out of reach. “If my time observing Dean has taught me nothing else, it is that alcohol is a depressant and it will not make you feel better. You are more likely to injure yourself or do something you would regret.”

“Something I might regret?”

Castiel shrugged. “I am sure there are things you could still regret.”

Like? What? Crowley growled. “I don’t have regrets. They are empty and pointless. I live how I want, and I take what I want.” A lie. A lie he told himself to get himself through the day, and how dare the angel make him see through it? How dare he?

“Crowley… believe me. You should rest, and recuperate. Your thinking is clouded by emotion and intoxicants, and it is better to make decisions sober.”

The King of Hell was about to point out he was the _King of Hell_ and he was not ‘clouded’, he was thinking clearly. Clearer than he had in days. Clearer than he had in hundreds of years. He could see the ridiculousness of this situation, could see how they were lying to themselves and to one another. Could see how he-- his jaw snapped shut.

Castiel was right, of course. If he spoke now, he might say a truth neither of them was ready to hear. Safer to live in a lie. Safer to pretend. Safer to just… carry on as they were. That way there was no chance of rejection, no chance of pain.

“Go,” he said, with a wave of his hand. “You’re boring when you’re sober.”

Castiel was always sober, and never boring. It was the worst lie he could remember uttering in the longest of times.

The seraph hesitated just a moment too long, but then he nodded and flapped out.

Of course. He left. It had been what he’d asked for, but not what he’d wanted. What he’d wanted? Was to ask him to stay. To ask him to stay for good. To ask… if he felt the things that Crowley was beginning to recognise in himself. But he hadn’t. He’d given him the opportunity to leave, and Castiel had taken it.

He guessed it was an answer all the same.

Crowley did regret. More things to lie about, and the only person he was fooling was himself


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel heard the cry over angel-radio just too late. If Zophiel had called out earlier, he would have… he would have…

He would have charged up to Heaven, probably, and faced off with Raphael himself. He would have tried to save her and been destroyed in the process. That was why Raphael had done it. He had done this first to try and pull Castiel out of hiding and back where he could be punished, and then when Zophiel had refused to call to him for help, he had done it as a warning and a lesson. 

It was a lesson, alright. It was a lesson in what happened to angels who openly defied Raphael. He knew his brother had made this personal in ways he had never intended. He had never wanted to start a war, had never intended anyone to follow him, to fall in line behind him. It was all an accident, and Zophiel had paid the price. 

“Zophiel…”

“No… don’t…” she whispered, and he ran a hand over her face, cleaning the worst of her Fall from her. Between her shoulder blades was the worst damage, and he could not quite bring himself to look, yet. To see where her wings had been. To see the open, empty, gaping spot where Raphael had plucked her bare, then ripped the bleeding bones from her frame. He wanted to heal it so very badly, but he was selfish enough not to want to see, either. His stomach churned at the thought, and his own wings shrivelled up against his back in sympathy.

“I would have come.”

“I know,” she said, with that sad, slow smile. “I know. Which is why I didn’t call.”

Protecting him to the last. Him. Lowly Castiel. So low he had to ask Hell for help. So low he couldn’t even protect those loyal to him. So low he was ashamed to see the damage his rebellion had wrought on his friend.

He pulled her close to his chest, his Grace reaching out instinctively. He wanted to heal her so very badly.

“I will help you. I will help you find a life amongst the humans. They can be good people, at times. They love a lot. There is much to--”

“No, Castiel.”

He pulled back to frown at her. “No?”

“I do not wish to be a human, brother.”

“I cannot give you your wings back. It is outside of my powers.”

“I know.”

“Then… what?” He thought he knew the answer, but he didn’t want to hear it.

“Send me home, Castiel. Send me home. And show Raphael he cannot keep us out of Heaven.”

“Zophiel…”

“Please, Castiel. It is what I want. I want him to know he cannot win. I… need…”

It was horrible. It was horrific. It was… what she wanted. He stared into her too-brown eyes, now no longer glowing radiant like the angel she had been. Dull, now. Dull and human.

“I will not let this be in vain,” he promised.

“I know. I know you won’t. We believe in you.”

He held her closer. He pulled out his wings, and he stroked over her bloodied, injured back. He pressed a kiss to her temple, and then she nodded.

A snap and it was all over.

Zophiel was dead.

***

Castiel flew into Heaven, all but defying Raphael to face him. The archangel was nowhere to be seen. 

Instead there was a small circle: he recognised some as those loyal to him, but there were new faces, too. Angels he knew at a glance, but who had never spoken more than a few words to him in all his long life. He nodded to them and then knelt. Zophiel’s mortal body was healed, now, and perfect in its death. A little further down in the vision, she was an angel again. The resting of her soul was to sing joyfully in praise of their Father, and they all could see and hear her, though they chose not to let her see them. Ghosts of other angels joined her, and she seemed happy. 

Castiel said nothing as he placed her body down. As he laid her out as witness. As he ran a hand along her corpse and let the grass rise over her and pull her down. He said nothing as the memory of her voice spoke for him.

The Angel of Thursday grieved.

The Angel of Thursday left.

***

Castiel said nothing when he appeared in Hell. He wasn’t sure how much the demon’s spies would tell him of the happenings in Heaven, but he was willing to bet it was enough. Crowley always seemed to find everything out, in the end. 

The demon was in the middle of reading something when he arrived, and Castiel could barely meet his eyes when they lifted from their work.

_Help me_ , he wanted to beg. _I never meant for her to die_ , he wanted to explain. _I was never made to do this_. Instead he let his misery play across his face as plain as day, and he said nothing.

Crowley was on his feet at once, and the office melted to the room they often shared. Castiel laughed out loud - a broken sound - and shook his head no. No. It wasn’t going to be cured by a… it wasn’t going to be cured by anything. His _friend_ was dead. Someone who had believed in him. Someone who had endured torture just to keep him safe, in the hopes that he would one day triumph. 

Castiel never wanted anyone to die. Never wanted anyone to look at him as their Lord and Saviour. He’d only ever wanted… freedom. 

And she’d had it. Right at the end, she’d had it. She’d made her decision not to call for help, and she’d made her decision to die by Castiel’s hand. It was a lesson hard learned, and one he wished he’d never taught.

Stand up. Stand up and be counted. Stand up and… die.

He grabbed the demon by the front of his jacket and _slammed_ him into the wall. He wanted to scream and snarl _this is all your fault, this is all your doing, if you had just let me die then she would still be here_. He wanted to beat pain into the demon to equal the agony she’d felt. He wanted to reach his hand inside the monster’s chest and squeeze at his smoke until he begged for mercy, and Castiel would give none. Raphael had given none. Angels were not merciful. Angels were… _fierce_. He slammed Crowley again, but instead of outrage or affront, he could only see pity and sorrow on the monster’s face. Instead of a quick, snappy jibe or some come-back that only Crowley could muster, the demon’s hands curled around his and held on gently. Crowley nodded.

What? What was that? An admission of guilt? That it was Crowley’s fault, and not his own? That this was wrong? **Wrong**? Or… was it something else? Was it an agreement, an offer, a deal? Was the demon saying ‘do what you want, take what you need, use me as you require’?

Cas didn’t know any more.

He didn’t know anything any more. He slammed Crowley once again - the demon’s head smacking into the concrete and leaving a mark - but Crowley just looked like his heart was breaking. Damn him! He was supposed to protest! He was supposed to snap back! This was supposed to make him _feel better_. 

Those hands moved. One laid on his heart, and one on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley whispered.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you, and I want to hurt you.

“It’s okay. All of it is okay.”

No it isn’t. Nothing is okay. Nothing will ever be okay again.

“Let me help you.”

Tears stung at his eyes, and Castiel’s heart ached in his chest. His Grace torn in two by loss. Zophiel. He didn’t even know what would help, right now. He thought violence might, but the demon didn’t have the good sense to suffer right, and Castiel couldn’t bring himself to hurt anyone other than Crowley.

“I don’t… know…”

“How?” Crowley asked. “Whatever you need. If you need to hurt me, do. If you need _me_ to hurt _you_ , then I will. Or if you just want…?”

Cas didn’t know. He didn’t know what he wanted. Crowley put his hands back on Cas’ and gently pushed them down, until he was back on his own two feet and Cas was simply clutching at him. 

“Let me help you, angel. You haven’t grieved before, and I’ve done plenty.”

Reluctantly the seraph nodded. He let Crowley guide him slowly to their bed, and he didn’t resist when he was pushed to sit down. 

The demon crouched on his knees on the bed beside him with an arm snaked around his waist, and the other clutching at Cas’ hand. Slow, careful kisses that stole away his tears, but just made fresh ones fall hot and salty-wet on his cheeks. Crowley didn’t stop, he just kept kissing and holding until Cas cried harder and harder. It hurt. It hurt so much. He turned into Crowley’s arms, and buried his face on his shoulder and wept. He didn’t even know how long he cried for, he just cried until it was all gone from his chest and all that remained was a lingering, empty sadness. The noises died down to little, hiccupy sounds and Crowley held him tighter.

“I-- Crowley, I--”

He looked up through red-rimmed eyes, not even sure what he was asking. He held the hand above his heart like if he let go the world might stop.

“Do you trust me?”

Cas nodded. He did. It was why he was here. It was why he came.

“It won’t take the pain away. Nothing but time can do that, my angel. But I can make you feel… cared for. Do you want me to do that?”

Another nod, and his eyes averted.

He felt strange being bared like this. Normally it was mutual and hurried. Normally it was joyous and vibrant. Now it was a delicate, careful operation of fingers that pushed back fabric and lips that kissed each part warm. Was it wrong to do this? Should he be seeking carnal pleasure in the devil’s arms, because a pact had been made? A pact that had lead to one angel’s death, and would likely lead to several more before the end. Was it worth it? Really?

Castiel felt strangely numb as he was stripped down. He thought perhaps he’d felt too much. Was it possible? Could you feel so much that no more would fit inside? Would he ever feel anything that didn’t hurt?

“Crowley--”

“Hush, angel.” A finger to his lips, and knowing, knowing eyes. “It won’t mend things, I told you. But it might…”

Cas nodded. Those fingers slid every last inch of fabric from his skin and all that was left was angel and vessel.

“She didn’t deserve it,” he whispered. “She was a good soldier. She was brave.”

“Bravery doesn’t mean jack shit in this life or the next, Cas. Nor does being good. Well. Maybe being good matters in the next life, but the first one bloody well doesn’t care. It’s not fair, and you just have to cope.”

“But--”

“But nothing. Can you change it? No. Can you move on, and make her sacrifice worth something?”

Cas lowered his eyes. He wasn’t sure about that, either.

“C’mon, Cas. I know you’re hurting now… but believe me. You have to _keep fighting or Raphael wins_.”

That hurt again, through the dull ache in his chest. Yes. He did. 

“Now… lie back and let me take care of you.”

He wasn’t sure how this would help, but the demon seemed intent on trying to cure him with kisses that landed all over. Crowley combed fingers over his scalp, through his hair, and Cas closed his eyes to the sensations. It wasn’t even as if he was turned on, it was simply comforting. It was nice to feel… wanted. Appreciated. Like he wasn’t useless, if the demon could need him. He’d not let Crowley down... yet.

Crowley was too good to him. Far too good to him. He kept waiting for the second shoe to drop, or the catch, or… what? When would the sting come? When would the inevitable pain follow? Crowley kissed down over his throat, over his chest, over his stomach and down to his crotch. He could feel the faintest, slowest stir in response, but to his chagrin his cock seemed too sad to react. Crowley didn’t seem to mind, placing soft little kisses to it, to his thighs, to his balls. 

“I don’t think…”

“It’s okay. It’s fine if you can’t. It’s not all about getting off, you know,” Crowley reassured him. “Sometimes it’s just about touching.”

Cas nodded and laid back once more, fingers still combing through the demon’s short hair. He was surprised when Crowley pushed his feet up the bed, encouraging his knees bent and his legs splayed, but he went along with it. More kisses to the insides of his knees, and then Crowley was kissing behind his balls, kissing over a place he’d never even touched. Cas frowned in confusion. Why was he--?

A hand rubbed his hip, and he dropped his head back down. Crowley said he knew grief, and if he thought that would help…

A slow, careful flicker of tongue and he gasped. It was warm and wet, and it probed at his hole gently, seeking access and breaching him oh so softly. Since they’d started this tryst, things had tended to go down similar paths each time, and Crowley had always seemed content with that, and Castiel had never questioned the why or wherefore. He reached down for the hand on his hip and curled his own over it, biting back a little whimper.

“Just let me,” Crowley repeated, and bent back between his thighs. Cas nodded and tried to keep his breathing slow and level as that tongue slid deeper and deeper in. Further and further it went, flickering inside of him and stroking against places he didn’t know he had. 

Somehow, despite itself, his body was responding to the caring touches, and Cas could feel his cock starting to stiffen. It was a strange sensation, like a heavy, leaden swelling in the pit of his belly. Crowley was ignoring his dick, though, in favour of eating out his ass. He moved his hips just a little, trying to get him deeper inside and was frustrated when he didn’t get any more tongue. Instead Crowley pulled back and laid his head on Cas’ thigh.

“If you want more, it’s going to have to be fingers or dick, love, because we weren’t all blessed with a tongue as long as yours.”

Cas sighed. “Alright.”

“Still the charmer, then…”

“Shut up, Crowley,” he whispered, with the slightest of smiles.

Crowley nodded and slid two fingers suddenly inside of him. Cas moaned and rode them, his hips snaking up and down as he tried to get more - more - more. His dick was certainly with the program now, curling up to lie flat on his belly and demand attention. Was it wrong to want physical comfort when his heart was sore? Was it wrong to crave the demon’s gentle kisses and gentler words?

And why did the demon even care?

“Do you want me to, Cas?”

Cas swallowed. 

“It’s okay if you don’t. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

“No… I… yes. Crowley… yes.”

Crowley took that as enough of a yes, and then Cas felt that somehow those fingers inside of him were sticky and goopy. Lube, of course. His best friend, Crowley had once insisted. Cas was beginning to suspect he had been more truthful than he’d first thought. 

“If you need me to stop, just say.”

Another nod, and then the kisses were trailing back up to his throat again. Cas whimpered and pulled the demon to his lips for a kiss, but Crowley hovered just above his mouth, breathing against his lips.

“Don’t stop,” Cas whispered.

“I won’t,” Crowley promised, and then there was a strange feeling of being almost… _split_ , of his body opening up almost uncomfortably slowly, of the weird, firm sensation of Crowley pushing into him. He panicked for just a moment, but then Crowley was kissing his lips over and over and whispering that it was okay, that he was beautiful, that he could take it, that he was so brave and strong and he’d been in control for long enough, that he didn’t need to be any more, that Crowley would take care of him. Cas felt his eyes pricking again with tears, and then there was a weird little _give_ and he realised that Crowley was all the way inside of him. Inside. In his body. Cas scrabbled for purchase over his shoulders, grabbing and holding and feeling his heart hammering in his chest. Was this how Crowley felt when they did this? This incredible intimacy and openness? This… connection? 

He wanted to stare into the demon’s eyes, but they were shut. They were shut and Crowley was breathing raggedly, and Cas could tell he was trying to get himself back under control. He wanted to do this slow and measured, he wanted to do this right for the angel, and it made him appreciate this all the more. All this time and never once had Crowley asked him to give his own body up like this, and now he was just doing it because Cas was heartbroken. That… had to mean something, right? Had to…

But then there was a pull back, a hiss past the angel’s lips as it tormented his insides in all the right ways… and a grunt and a push back in. Cas whispered back. Whispered thank yous, and yes, and please, and keep doing that, and I need you, I need you, I need you. 

It felt good. It felt more than good. He felt special, and cared for, and wanted, and… things he had no right feeling in the arms of a demon. Whether it was real or not, it was a gift he would cherish, and a lesson he would learn. He should have done this the other night, he realised, much too late. He’d seen Crowley on the verge of a breakdown from being betrayed, and he’d just left when he’d been told to. He’d thought he had been sparing Crowley the embarrassment of the morning-after. He’d thought he’d kept Crowley from saying things he would later wish he hadn’t. Instead, he should have kept words out of it. He should have offered him what comfort he could, just to show… he cared. Because he did. He’d left because he’d cared, and because he’d been afraid of that feeling, too. And - even more selfishly than that - the angel would never live down the shame... He had gone to ask for comfort for himself, found his lover needed it more, and refused to provide it. Never again. He would not ever let Crowley hurt alone again.

Kisses over Crowley’s temple, and hands wrapped around his upper arms as the demon shunted harder, faster, firmer. Cas could feel in the way the demon tensed in his grip that he was close. So close. He wanted to feel that. He wanted to feel the sensation of the demon losing himself in him.

“Please,” he begged, his voice barely audible. “Please, Crowley… come for me?”

Soft, pained amber eyes fixed on his, and Cas wondered was he crying, too? Crying for Castiel? He rubbed those tears away with his thumbs, then he licked each one with his tongue. Those, too, were a precious gift and one he would cherish. Even if this was just for tonight, even if this was nothing more than a one-night affair… it meant something to him.

Crowley nodded, then, and he smiled sort of sadly. “ _Angel_ ,” he whispered. Not Castiel. Not Cas. Not Kitten. Angel. As if it meant more than just a job. As if it was more than just who he was. His eyes slanted almost-shut, and then he could feel the sudden pulsing, stretching heat between his legs as the demon came inside of him. He felt strangely proud to be responsible for that, in part. Felt proud that his body could give such joy.

But Crowley was not content in curling up on his body in the aftermath, and Cas cried out in pleasure as his lover jerked him the last few, heated strokes more that sent him careening over the edge after him. He called out - “ _King_...” and then his head fell back onto the bed. His climax left him feeling strangely floaty and like he was a boat lost adrift in some dark, peaceful sea with no stars or moon above and only the gentle rocking of the ocean to remind him he still existed. He still hurt in his heart, but it was better than feeling nothing. It hurt, but there was hope.

For long moments they lay tangled up: with Crowley’s head on his shoulder, with his hand curled around his now-spent dick, with Castiel’s legs tangled up with the demon’s. He should go. He should probably go. He normally did, after their… encounters. But he didn’t want to leave. Not right now. He was sure there was nowhere in Heaven, Earth or even Hell that would feel better than he did right here, right now.

“Stay,” Crowley whispered, echoing his thoughts almost too quietly to hear.

Castiel nodded.

Tonight… tonight he would stay.

***

Demons didn’t sleep… nor did angels. It did not mean closing their eyes and creating various daydreams and fantasies was impossible, which was exactly what Crowley did. In his mind, he and Castiel were off in some exotic location: no Heaven, no Hell, just the two of them, cuddled close together as they were right now. Peaceful. In love. _Together._

Castiel on the other hand, did not close his eyes. He took in every detail of the room they were in, fingers drifting over Crowley’s arm slowly. Cas tried not to think about his fallen sister, but it was difficult. Even with the demon’s caring, and - dare he say - _loving_ touch still lingering all over his body. He allowed himself to close his eyes, immediately regretting the decision as his own wings ached remembering Zophiel’s… _No_. His eyes flew open, concentrating once more on the feel of Crowley curled up on his chest; his slow, even breaths, the way the demon had made him feel… 

Castiel sighed, he knew it was daylight on Earth… he knew he needed to go. He didn’t want to but… there was work to do. That coupled with the fact that he could not close his eyes without seeing horrific images. Unnecessary death that could’ve been avoided. He sighed heavily.

Crowley still had his eyes closed, pretending he was asleep. 

Castiel pretended he believed him.

And the angel took flight, leaving the demon alone once more.


	8. Chapter 8

This was not what Cecily had expected when Crowley had approached her and asked for ‘a little favour’ from her. Of course she had done as requested which meant, currently, she was being pushed up against the wall of her own bedroom as Scotius ran his hands all over her body and shoved his tongue down her throat. It’s not that she wasn’t into him - and had circumstances been different, perhaps she’d have given him a chance - but… she had work to do.

“I wanna tie you up, Scotty,” she breathed against his neck before scraping her teeth against his throat, running her fingers up and down his sides like an amorous pianist.

Scotius let out a growl as she flipped their position, slamming him against the wall instead. 

“Not here,” she said, kissing him again before she grabbed his hand and led him quickly down the hallway, heading into another room. It was dark, but she didn’t need the light to shove him against the table with the straps on it… the one she had borrowed from Crowley. She strapped Scotius down, the traps on the leather taking away his powers.

He suddenly wasn’t so sure about this, tugging at the restraints, frowning at her, trying to squirm free. “Wait…?”

Cecily lit a few candles before moving to stand close to the older demon, her lips against his ear, hand on his chest. “You know… I understand you’ve been quite a bad boy, Scotty,” she breathed. 

“Oh, I _have_ ,” he agreed, watching her closely, interested again.

She giggled, “Yeah? You should tell me what you’ve done.” One long finger flicked at a lock of hair which tumbled over his forehead.

“Well, for starters, I’m a fuckin’ demon,” he laughed.

Cecily grabbed his chin. “You think this is funny, Scotius?”

“--No…?”

She lightly smacked his face before standing further back with a smile that was downright wicked. “Now tell me… what have you done?”

“It’s sort of… top secret…” 

“I love secrets,” she told him, tilting the table so he was almost standing up straight and she could cover his body with hers, pepper little kisses under his jaw, and drag a hand along the inside of his thigh, pausing when she was almost close enough to his crotch. Almost.

Scotius squirmed under her touch, wanting more, trying to press his body closer to hers. It was a shame, really… had she not been so married to the job, she might’ve fucked it out of him. But that would be a tad bit too unprofessional for her liking... so when he didn’t speak up, she moved closer to his ear again. 

“Scotty… let me lay it out for you, babe. I hear you’re sitting on quite a few souls that should be going to our King. You **are** still loyal to our King, _aren’t you?_ ”

“Wh- what?” he stuttered.

“Crowley… our King… you’re still loyal to him, yes?” Cecily asked again, backing away from him just a bit, hands on his chest. She tilted her head to one side, assessingly.

“I’m not really on anyone’s side… more like waiting to see who stabilizes Hell, really.”

“Oh Crowley’s stabilized Hell, sweetie… and he’s gonna need those souls as soon as we’re done here,” she smiled.

Scotius chuckled, “As soon as we’re done here? Yeah, I don’t think so, _sweetie_.”

She chuckled right back at him, echoing his laugh, and then abruptly stopped. His smile faded. “I don’t think you understand, Scotty. You see, the head honcho sent me to you _specifically_ to get those souls and I can’t show up empty handed to the boss. I’m sure you understand.”

“I’m not giving the souls up yet,” he argued.

“Darling,” she said, moving closer to him again, her lips on his ear once more. “I can make your life _actual_ **Hell**. I can tear down your Crossroads position, your reputation, _everything_. And if you doubt me, remember, the King of Hell sent me. Now… you had an arrangement, did you not?”

“I’m not breaking a deal if that’s what your angle is. It was not specified _when_ the souls would go to him,” Scotius argued.

“You **know** they go immediately. And you **know** you’re in the wrong, babe,” she said, leaning into his personal space again. “You are also aware, aren’t you, that Xaphan and his little rebel buddies are for the chop, right? Like, they messed with the bull and got the horns kinda thing. So… whoever else you’re waiting for to step up and kick Crowley off the throne, well… you’ll be waiting in line longer than the souls in the new Hell will. I suggest you hand them over to the King.”

“I’m not handing them over!” he snapped.

“Suit yourself. I’ll send the Hellhounds in when you least expect it,” she said, moving towards the door. 

“Wait,” Scotius called out. “How do I know Crowley will get them and not you?”

Cecily reached into a drawer by the door and pulled out a contract. “I’ve been granted special binding powers to make a deal with you - sealed with his signature, of course. Feel free to look it over. It prevents any future issues with the same problem, as well.”

“And if I don’t?” the older demon asked. 

Cecily shrugged, giving him a smile. “Hellhounds.”

“Fine.”

Cecily smiled. Crowley would be so pleased with her. She let one arm free enough to sign the contract before she rolled the agreement back up and tied the red ribbon around it.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya,” she smiled.

“So, you still want to…?” he asked.

“Maybe some other time, sweetie. This needs to be delivered to Crowley ASAP,” she grinned, fixing her shirt and hair before heading out the door. 

“What about me?!” he yelled after her, voice breaking a little in panic.

“I’ll send someone for you!” she yelled back. More important things to do right now, such as delivering this contact to the King of Hell.

***

“What do we do?” Rachel asked, hovering by the seraph’s shoulder.

“You ensure that Raphael’s troops never catch you. No matter what. You protect yourselves at any cost. _Any_. They will not hold back from killing you, so you must do the same… but only in self-defence. I don’t want any angels to die. Not unless it’s essential.”

The other angel nodded, listening to every word. “None of us wish for death, Castiel. For ourselves or for others.”

Cas wished he could believe that, but he did know that Rachel meant it for her own part. “I must ask something of you.”

“Anything, Castiel.” 

Anything. Such a dangerous request. Anything could mean sacrificing wings. Could mean sacrificing life. He knew that, now. He knew this was a real war. 

“I need you to be my lieutenant.”

She frowned. “I am not--”

“What you were made does not matter. I was not created seraphim, and yet… here I stand opposing the last archangel. It is not what God made you, it is what you make yourself.”

“I… see.”

Did she? He peered at her, at her face so sure and intent. He could see the shadows of Zophiel’s death around her eyes, but it had not stopped her. Not at all. If anything, there was a fire in her that had never been there before. 

“I need you to give the instructions when I am not around.”

“I will… do as you ask.”

It was freedom of a sort, he supposed. 

“We need souls,” Cas went on. “However they can be acquired. I want you to focus on that. Focus on getting us the power to beat him. We do not have the numbers, so we must use our wits.”

Another nod. “Of course.”

“He will not expect to be opposed. He will not expect us to stand united. We must continue to gather intelligence on his movements, his numbers, his plans. We must infiltrate his intelligence, but remember he may try to do the same to us.”

“How can we know who to trust?”

“...you must… use your instinct, as it were. But do not confide in anyone fully. Keep the parts of the plan hidden across many angels. If we suspect he has compromised our ranks, then we must attempt drip-feeding misinformation, so we can tell who has deserted us.”

“Souls, survival, and communications,” she mused. “Alright. I will let the others know.”

As she turned to go, Cas grabbed her shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. “I mean it. I trust you, Rachel. I know you can do this.”

She smiled, then. Just a little. “I know. I believe in you.”

Then she was gone, and he was alone again.

No. Not alone.

He had… an army.

***

Crowley had expected Xaphan to show at some point. Have a little chat, maybe throw out some of the usual threats, it was hard to tell. Xaphan wasn’t as cunning as the King of Hell, so naturally he’d go with something he was good at. He anticipated some kind of attack, some form of brute force and spear-to-shield bashing, the traditional shows of virility that just made you look pathetic. What he _hadn’t_ anticipated was being accosted in his own hallway. 

As out of character as it was for Crowley to be caught off guard, it did, on occasion, occur. He wasn’t even sure how it happened. Maybe he’d been too engrossed in thoughts of that bloody Shifter which was still on the loose, maybe he’d been thinking about the newly-returned souls, or maybe he’d been thinking about the angel, and how he hadn’t seen him in what felt like forever and he wanted to run fingers through his hair and maybe his tongue all over…

Distracted, Xaphan and his little minions had Crowley up against the wall, restrained in cuffs laced with dark magic and a devil’s trap bag roughly placed over his head in an instant. 

_Bollocks._

The rogue demons took Crowley to his office, tossing him onto the floor where they’d painted a devil’s trap all over Crowley’s beautiful hardwood floors. Crowley vibrated with anger at the ignominy, at the insult piled onto injury. This was his sanctum sanctorum. To be assaulted here… One of the minions ripped the bag off Crowley’s head with a grin and kicked him onto his stomach. The King landed heavily, unable to break his fall.

Xaphan perched himself on Crowley’s desk, knocking almost everything onto the floor with a laugh. “Let’s see what you’ve been up to, _boss man_.”

“What I’ve been up to, you overstuffed bouncer, is _running the show_. Getting more souls. Organising. Streamlining. _Upscaling_.” The King rolled onto his side to glower up at him, even through the bag. 

“Those all sound like fancy words for ‘Jack Shit’ to me.”

“Because your vocabulary is as limited as your intelligence,” Crowley spat.

That earned him a size nine to the kidneys, and he grunted but refused to yelp.

“You’re no King. Hell needs no King. Hell needs Lucifer, not some jumped-up, punk-ass two-bit salesman in an ugly suit pretending he’s something special…”

It was at that moment that Castiel appeared. The slight smile on his lips faded immediately, angel blade in his hand. “Xaphan,” he growled, eyeing up the demon on Crowley’s desk.

“Castiel… long time no see. What the Hell are you doing here in… well… Hell?”

The angel looked quickly around the room quickly, assessing the situation. His eyes landed on Crowley, then back to Xaphan. “Is this your doing?” he demanded.

The minion demons approached Castiel and he flung them all against the wall and held them there without laying a finger on them, eyes never leaving Xaphan. They grunted and struggled, but the angel’s mental powers were too strong for them.

Xaphan jumped off the desk, slowly walking towards Castiel. “What if it was…? What is the King of Hell to you, anyway?”

Castiel was in front of Xaphan instantly, hand on his head, Grace burning him to nothingness, wordlessly: white light that erupted from the demon’s eyes and mouth. The borrowed power surged in the angel, rising like an impossibly urgent and bright wave that he must obey, and he let his Grace flare out to destroy every demon in the room. Every demon except, of course, their King.

Cas held out a hand and burned break in the demon trap so Crowley could get out, which he did immediately, shuffling to his feet and then submitting to Castiel’s ministrations: the bag pulled from his head, the cuffs released from his wrists. 

The demon brushed off his suit, flustered. “Seems Xaphan himself is no longer a threat…” Crowley wouldn’t admit it, of course, but he was shaken. First at being trapped and threatened so easily, and second… and second at how quick and easy Castiel had destroyed all of his primary opponents. Wham, bam, thank you Castiel. The seraph really was strong, and if he should ever decide to switch sides…? Not to mention the sudden ferocity with which he’d been defended. Was it because without him there would be no Purgatory, or… was their relationship something to him, too? They never discussed it. It always just… happened.

Crowley shuddered, passing it off as more preening as best he could.

“How did this happen?” Castiel asked.

“Let down your guard for five seconds, and the vultures swoop in… Cecily warned me about this,” he said, shaking his head. 

The angel surveyed the damage around the office and - with a wave of his hand - it was back to its normal state. Crowley tried to hide his shaking hands as he went to pour himself a drink. Castiel pretended not to notice the shaking as he moved to stand behind Crowley, placing his own hands on the demon’s shoulders. He still wasn’t entirely sure when physical comforting should be used, but he knew he needed to do _something_ for Crowley. The King seemed to like that, because his hands went stiller. Castiel pressed in flush against his back, lips touching at his ear gently. 

“Finish your drink, and come with me,” the angel whispered.

“...of course,” Crowley replied, and downed the drink in one. He was going to have to admit to himself, seeing the angel so deadly and vibrant? Was as much of a turn-on as it was a terror. Hot breath and hotter body and he was finding it hard to focus. Or maybe it was the near-death experience.

The Craig went down in one. Crowley was determined not to.

***

They spent the entire night wrapped around each other, and they were a sated, tangled mess of limbs and sheets by the morning-time. Castiel’s head was against the demon’s chest, his fingers lazily tracing the dragon tattoos on Crowley’s meatsuit, the vibrant little beasts that breathed when the demon moved. 

“Do your dragons have names?” Castiel asked.

Crowley laughed. What an absurd question. This angel who was curled complacently on the King of Hell, who could smite him as soon as look at him, who could talk about anything in the entire world and he chose to ask if he had named his tattoos? He sure was glad he was on the seraph’s good side… “What?” he asked, still chuckling.

“Your dragons… did you name them? Or did your… meatsuit?”

“No, angel. They do not have names.” Crowley kissed the top of Cas’ head. “Either from me or the original owner. You’re a strange creature, you know that?”

“I suppose… but so are you.” 

Crowley could feel him smiling against his chest and that made the demon beam all the more. He liked it when Cas was happy.

“You are aware you’ve got to keep your trap shut about Xaphan, yes? Word gets out that you were the one to kill him - in my office of all places - it’s not going to bode well for your little war in Heaven,” Crowley’s fingers drifted over Castiel’s back, stroking where he knew his wings lay just out of view. It always made the angel arch just so, made his eyes drift to half-mast, and Crowley wondered if he could actually feel fingers on his feathers.

“Yes. We will keep it quiet, then.”

“Nice as it would be to have you just… Sparkle Motion all my enemies to death, you’d do me out of a job and you’d be kicked out of Upstairs, too.”

Crowley had thought about it. It would be… nice to overpower every demon. But if they realised he was ‘partnered’ with a stronger being, then his own status would be affected, too. 

“I understand.” He was sure Castiel did.

“I may have my connections spread a few rumors about having them locked up… might help secure my position… get word out that I’m torturing a Baron. With all the souls coming back to me, I should be secure for some time.”

Cas smiled because Crowley valued his opinion, just as the angel valued the demon’s. “I think it would be a wise move. And when no one hears from him again, they will learn to fear and respect you.”

Crowley grinned and pulled the angel a little bit closer. All of that could wait… at least a little while. For the moment, he and the angel were content to snuggle close together and pretend for now that everything was right in the world… that both Heaven and Hell were not at war. That they were not angel and demon, but Castiel and Crowley. And for a moment… they could be at peace in each other’s arms.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel showed up just in time to find Sam beating a sheriff’s deputy unconscious. The angel gave an exasperated, worried sigh as he tilted his head and muttered, “Sam, _no_ ,” to himself. He and Samuel checked around for witnesses, not seeing the hidden angel, of course, and drove off. Castiel hung his head. He made sure the deputy was still alive and disappeared. 

He had promised Crowley he would not interfere. That he would keep himself hidden from them, no matter how upset he was about Sam’s lost soul. Every time Sam prayed to Cas, the angel’s heart broke a little more. Not only because he could do nothing but listen, but because the prayers weren’t about finding or looking after Dean or getting his soul back. He only wanted to know how the Hell he got of the Cage and if it Castiel had been the one to raise him. The prayers grew increasingly desperate with time, increasingly urgent and loud. Sometimes, it seemed like Sam would try to trick Cas into showing up. Asking for help with a case, but Cas would usually show up whenever Sam would try to talk to him - remaining invisible, of course - and there was never any real danger.

It _did_ provide the angel and his demon business partner with information much quicker than Christian would. Mainly because Christian had to be completely alone to report to Crowley. Cas, on the other hand, could flit in and out whenever he wanted to. 

Castiel knew his appearance would only complicate things for everyone. Not to mention, it’d make his job a Hell of a lot more difficult with Sam and Dean sniffing around his trail. Still, he found he disliked Samuel intensely, and the more Alphas they caught, the more he worried what would become of Sam when they had nothing else for him to do. Crowley wouldn’t want to keep him on the payroll, but he was almost certain the demon wouldn’t want him dead?

When they had the souls from Purgatory, his first mission was going to be freeing Sam’s soul. Maybe with the extra souls to power him, Cas would finally be able to finish saving his charge.

***

Crowley walked through the cellblock where the monsters were being kept. He stopped at the door of one of the monsters and smiled, head to one side. 

“Hello, darling.”

The Djinn backed herself into the corner, trying in vain to get away from him. She had only arrived the day before: bag over her head, and restraints around her wrists that curtailed her powers. Now she was just chained to the side of the small cell, cowering and dishevelled.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“I want to know why _you_ are so different from Djinns I’ve encountered in the past. Just one touch and you can kill. I’ve been around for centuries, sweetheart, and I’ve yet to encounter a monster like you,” Crowley said, opening up the door and standing just on the threshold.

The Djinn was quiet, unwilling to talk. 

The demon pressed his lips together in a thin line. “That’s too bad…”

“What?” 

“Its a shame I’d have to ruin such a pretty face,” he said, snapping his fingers to produce a silver knife, dripping with lamb’s blood. The Djinn’s eyes widened, her breath hitching.

“Ah, yes. Lamb’s blood,” Crowley grinned. “Willing to talk now?” he asked. 

The Djinn said nothing, her eyes on the blade, gleaming with slick red blood as the light hit it just right.

Crowley bounced the knife back and forth between his hands before tossing the knife into his left and taking a hard swing at the Djinn with his right. She screamed as his fist connected with her temple, knocking her to the floor... her chains making a loud, metallic clank as she did. Crowley laughed, letting her get her bearings straight before yanking her up by the chain attached to her the iron collar around her neck. 

She made a choking noise before she managed to squeak out, “I don’t know.”

“What’s that?” Crowley said, pulling her close to his ear.

“I don't… know,” she repeated, her voice strained.

“Yes. You. Do,” Crowley argued, moving the blade to scrape down her upper arm, tracing her tattoos. “So tell me and let’s get this dog and pony show over with, hmm?”

“I’m telling you the truth, I don’t know why I’m different. I just… _am_...”

Crowley shoved her back so hard her head cracked against the cement bricks and she collapsed onto the small cot - the only break in the monotony of the cell - clutching at her head. 

“Why are you doing this?” she asked blinking back tears.

“It doesn’t matter why. I’ll be back soon. You better be ready to talk, sweetheart,” Crowley said, waving the knife at her. After securing her cell, he headed out of the cellblock. 

The damned new monsters were going to make life harder, he just knew.

***

Castiel lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling, a smile on his face. 

“Crowley, stop,” he complained, playfully batting the demon’s lips away from him. “I told you, I don’t even have time for _that_.”

Crowley nipped gently at the angel’s throat. “Good to know I’m still the King of Sales, then,” he mumbled, letting his lips brush against the stubble that lined his jaw.

The angel chuckled, moving his hand up Crowley’s back slowly and then down again as the demon refused to stop kissing and nipping. Crowley also had a hand on Castiel’s chest, fingers dragging along his torso ever so lightly... down his side, over his belly, and back up before his fingers got swatted away again.

Crowley settled down, head against Castiel’s chest, planting a quick kiss on that perky little nipple before pulling himself as close to the angel as possible, legs tangled and sliding over the sheets. He let his hand wander down his lover’s side once more until he was rubbing the top of Cas’ thigh, letting his wrist skim lightly over the seraph’s now-soft dick. 

“Crowley, I have to go check on Sam,” Castiel argued, fingers now running through the demon’s fine hair.

Crowley sighed. “I suppose so… sure you’re not up for another go? I could make it quick?” His smirk was devious and spoke of it not being all that fast, when all was said and done.

“You know I _want_ to, demon. I promise: when I come back, I’ll stay much longer.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, ducky,” he said, leaning up to run his tongue over Castiel’s lips, followed by a slow kiss.

“Damn it, Crowley.” Cas moved to get up before he lost his nerve. As he stood and looked back at the bed, the demon was giving him the biggest, saddest puppy dog eyes he could muster. “No… demon… no,” he said, cracking a smile. He bent down for one more quick kiss.

Crowley rolled his eyes, “Alright, alright.” A snap and they were both dressed once more. 

“I’ll be back later,” Castiel insisted just before he disappeared. 

Nope… Crowley was **never** going to get used to that.

***

Castiel had gone to the Campbell’s compound to check on Sam, invisible, as always. What he found he was _not_ expecting.

Dean stood - in the _compound_ \- where he as **not** supposed to be, talking to Sam. 

“Well, was it God? Or - or - or Cas? I mean, does Cas know anything about it?” Dean asked. 

Castiel felt his heart sink. 

“You tell me. I’ve been calling. Cas hasn’t answered my prayers. I don’t even know where he is. I mean, I was… down there, and then, next minute, it’s raining, and I’m lying in that field, alone. It’s kind of hard to go looking for whatever saved you when you got no leads. But I looked. I mean, believe me, I looked… for weeks,” the younger Winchester explained. 

Cas felt terrible. He’d heard every single one of Sam’s prayers. **Every. Single. One.** And they all had to be ignored for the sake of keeping up appearances. Keeping it so that Crowley could use the whole soul bit as leverage. Once again, the angel felt disgusted with himself.

“Wait, weeks? How long you been back?” Dean asked, looking at his brother. “How long you been back, Sam?” 

“About a year,” Sam answered.

“About a _year_?” Dean repeated in disbelief.

_This was not good… this was not good at all…_ Castiel thought to himself as he hurried back to the demon.

“Back so soon? Couldn’t stay away from the good stuff, eh?” Crowley chuckled. He’d left the bed, but he was already moving to close the distance between them.

“Crowley this is serious,” Cas said, his expression far from the whimsical grin he’d left with.

“What happened?” 

“Sam and Dean. They’ve reunited.”

Crowley squinted at those words. “I take it he’s found the compound, then?”

“Yes. I went to check on Sam, and Dean was there as well.”

The demon shook his head. “You said we weren’t allowed to use Dean.”

“Correct.”

“Then explain to me how the bloody Hell we’re supposed to continue this with no complications if we’ve got big Sam and little Sam being followed around by Dean Winchester?” Crowley demanded, the cool, calm tone giving way to rising annoyance and agitation.

“Crowley this is not my fault. I did not interact with them. We had an agreement: neither of them ever knew of my presence,” Cas said.

“Well **someone** had to tip off the Squirrel, Cas.”

“It _wasn’t_ me,” the angel protested once more.

“Then _who_ **was it**?”

“I don’t know, Crowley, but Sam was telling Dean how I never answered any of his prayers. Neither of them know anything about where I am.”

“Oh, good. One thing went right. ‘A’ for effort, kitten,” Crowley scoffed. “I assume you’ll be wanting a gold star, too?”

Castiel squinted, head tilting to the side, not sure why the King of Hell was taking out all his anger on him.

“Crowley,” he said, reaching out to place his hand on the demon’s arm. “Please don’t--”

But Crowley snatched his arm back from Cas. “Don’t what, Cas?”

“Why are you so angry with me?”

“You said no Dean: it’s part of the deal. Sam is back with Dean. Don’t you realize the implications of this? This puts Dean - who still has a soul - right next to the demon I have keeping tabs on Sam. You don’t think he’s smart enough to figure that out? If he figures out there’s a mole, the entire plan could fall apart, Cas. The _entire_ plan.”

Castiel’s lips tightened into a thin line as he mulled that over. “I don’t think it will come to that,” he said, after a moment.

“Of course you don’t. And you call yourself a strategist,” Crowley scoffed, pouring out a drink for himself.

Castiel walked close to the demon once more, attempting to stand behind him and perhaps pull him into a hug, but the demon just blipped himself to the other side of the room. 

“Not in the mood, angel.”

“I see…” Castiel said. Crowley didn’t seem like he’d be very good company, so with a heavy heart, for more than one reason, Castiel disappeared. He could use some time to think things over as well.

Crowley stared at the spot the Angel of Thursday had vanished from as he sipped the amber liquid from the glass. He sighed heavily. ‘ _Damn it_ ’, he thought to himself. ‘ _Damn it all to Hell and back again_.’

Of course the fact that Dean was - in all honesty - no fool and would certainly figure out sooner rather than later that a demon was working in **very** close proximity to his precious little Samantha was reporting straight back to the King of Hell, but there was something else that was gnawing at him more than he cared to admit.

Dean Winchester was going to be back - front and center - all the time, now. Every time Cas needed to go check on Sam or the progress of the Campbell’s little hunting party, he’d see Dean again. And who was better in Castiel’s eyes? 

Obviously it would have to be the _Righteous Man_... especially when the only other option was the demon King of Hell… 

Castiel had strong feelings in general about demons. He’d made no secret of his distaste of the use of Christian Campbell as a demon pawn in this game. Crowley was sure that the hesitance and the doubt he felt in the angel all boiled down to _what Crowley was_. 

And now, faced with Dean Winchester back in the hunting game, well… who was Crowley? How could he expect Castiel to stay? A demon couldn’t keep an angel… not for real, anyway. If you put a Hunter and a demon in front of an angel, wouldn’t the angel choose the Hunter every time?

_You will never be good enough, Crowley. Never._

He could hear Castiel saying that to him, though he had never said anything close to that at all… he could see the angel’s features twisting in disgust as he looked down on him, growling those words to his face. Crowley lost his composure for a split second - long enough to throw the glass he’d been drinking out of against the wall with a yell, the glass shimmering in the rather dimly lit study as it fell to the floor. 

He tugged at his lower lip for a moment before moving to stand near the glass. He stared at it for a moment. It was still sparkling, catching the light and dancing it back… he didn’t clean it up. Instead he just headed out the door and to the basement. Might as well take out some of this aggression on an Alpha or two. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he left the glass because it reminded him of the sparkle he had seen in Castiel’s eyes before the angel left the first time, what felt like another lifetime ago now.

This was the beginning of the end.


	10. Chapter 10

Cecily sat down, making herself comfortable in the chair across from the King of Hell’s desk. She crossed her legs as she placed her ever-growing binder down and folded her hands in her lap. 

“Heard about the SNAFU with the Shifter… and how the Alpha got away… _again_ ,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “That thing is probs one of the most obnoxious creatures on this planet.”

“Yes, well… any insight from the newest footage or we still at a dead end with it?” Crowley asked.

“Actually, _there is_ ,” she said, the corner of her mouth tugging upwards. The demom leaned forwards, conspiratorially. “Okay, so, I was rewatching it and a thought occurred to me. This whole time we’ve been chasing this slippery lil’ punk… why not bring it to **us**?”

Crowley squinted at her. “Go on…”

“Well… we’ve got that baby now, right? _And_ thanks to sexiest Winchester - I’m talking about the young Sam btdubs - we have a profile to look for so we can find _more_ baby Shifters! If we collect the collect the little monsters before Daddy Dearest does, I have no doubt in my mind, he’ll def come to us,” she said with a smile, sitting back in her chair. “What ya think, boss?”

Crowley chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment, thinking the plan through. “That’s not bad, Cecily,” he grinned. “Not just a pretty face…”

The younger demon gave a shrug and another smile. “What can I say?” she blushed a bit. Damn her meatsuit… 

“I trust I can count on you to make the arrangements for this little Shifter farm?” Crowley asked.

“Of course,” she smiled, nodding towards him. “I’ll have it up and running before the end of the day.”

“Brilliant. Just send the information to the Campbells and they’ll collect the little buggers.”

Cecily nodded, biting her lip. “Can I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Have you worked out how to kill the Alpha Shifter? I mean… just with all these super powered monsters running around, and with everything the Campbells did to try and kill the thing…”

“Not quite… seems it takes a wee bit **more** to knock out Daddy Dearest.”

Cecily smiled. “Suppose that’s to be expected, hm?” She opened her binder. “Now… for your monster hunt, I come bearing gifts - well - addresses of gifts at least.”

“I do like gifts,” Crowley agreed, leaning forward. 

She handed him a post-it note with three addresses on it. “A pack of 5 Vetalas, an Alpha Wraith, and a very old Alpha Shtriga. Should be able to get all kinds of info outta these guys,” she said triumphantly.

“Busy week for you, darling,” Crowley smirked, taking the post-it note from Cecily. “As usual, I’m impressed.”

Cecily smiled. “It _was_ a very productive week,” she agreed.

“If you don’t have anything else for me, I’ll show you to the wing of the prison where the nursery can go.”

“That’s all I got for now,” she said. 

Crowley stood, moving around his desk to open the door for Cecily. “Shall we?”

***

Balthazar seethed in the holy-oil trap. “Castiel, I stood for you in Heaven. Are you gonna let--”

The seraph barely blinked. “I believe... the hairless ape has the floor.”

The blonde angel laughed. “Very well.” He took a deep breath, raised clasped hands to touch his forehead… and then let the breath out with a woosh. “The boy's debt is cleared. His soul is his own.”

“Why you buying up human souls, anyway?” Dean demanded.

“In this economy?” He shrugged. “It's probably the only thing worth buying. Do you have any idea what souls are worth? What power they hold? Now... release me.”

“Suck it, ass clown. Nobody said anything--”

Castiel lowered his hand, dampening the flames to the ground. 

Dean rounded on him, furious, “Cas, what the Hell?”

The angel ignored the human, speaking to Balthazar instead. “My debt to you is cleared.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed, vanishing with a flap of wings.

“Cas, are you out of your mind?!”

But Castiel didn’t wait to respond, though after he vanished he heard the echoing yell from Dean.

“Cas?! Oh, friggin' angels! Come on!”

Instead, Castiel followed Balthazar. It was easy enough, because Balthazar was not exactly hiding from him, and because they had known one another well, not that long ago.

“I told you, Cassie, I can’t give you the boom sticks. I need them. I don’t mind helping you out in any other capacity, but the good shit?”

“I understand,” he said. “I hope in time you will change your mind - and I hope you will refrain from bowing to Raphael’s bullying tactics, and not give him the weapons.”

“Believe me, I’d never hand them over to _that_ wheeze-bag. Apocalypse? No, thank you.”

“There are other ways you can help me.”

“Now you’re talking…” Balthazar clapped a hand to his shoulder. “What can I do you for? You want me to hook you up with the biggest pile of snow this side of the Alps? Or… a nice girl or three? A boy? A tiger?”

“A-- no, I don’t want any of those things.”

The other angel shrugged. “Hey, I don’t judge. Whatever wets your whistle, brother-mine.”

Thoughts of the demon stole into his mind unbidden. Thoughts of Crowley’s fingers in his hair, his body pressed flush to his, the sounds he would make when Castiel touched him back… “I need power.”

“Don’t we all, babe. Don’t we all.”

On Balthazar’s lips, the endearment grated on the seraph’s nerves. “If I am to defeat Raphael, I need power,” he reiterated.

“...so _that’s_ the other reason you followed me. Of course. You want souls, don’t you?”

Reluctantly, Cas nodded. “But not deals. Deals are for demons. I need… I need my own souls. Not damned ones.”

“...then, what? You want to sit over a church, turn it into a suicide cult for the Sweet Baby Jesus, and then harvest everything that yells ‘Kumbaya’?”

“...I don’t know.”

“Clearly… Help me out, here. You don’t want to buy them, you don’t want to steal them… how, exactly, am I supposed to procure for you the undying souls of the unwashed masses?”

“I will… try to think of something.”

“Well. When you do? Let me know. I’ll take a small cut, of course… but only as an insurance policy. Takes a lot to keep ahead of the spies, you know. Raphael’s brutes are all over, now.”

“So I had noticed.”

“Well… don’t be a stranger, love. I really, truly _am_ glad to see you still fine. And when you finally kick that bastard’s arse, you want to be sure I will throw you _the_ biggest party since the Prodigal Son returned.”

“...thank you.”

“Oh, quit looking so dour. Honestly, Cas? Live a little. I know you are so intent on doing the right thing… but if your life is not worth living, what are you fighting for, anyway?”

What, indeed? A Sam with no soul, a Dean dragged away from his retirement, angels who just wanted to trade leaders, a world full of quarrelsome souls and a dem-- and a demon who was just… _too_ charming, at the end of the day.

“We will meet again, Balthazar.”

“I’m sure of it.”

***

Crowley was mid-sip when Castiel appeared looking rather angry. The demon sat his glass down on the desk. 

“Castiel… how nice of you to **grace** me with your presence,” Crowley snarked.

“I just had an interesting conversation about you,” Castiel all but growled.

“Pray do tell, kitten.”

“Bobby cited your contract saying you only had to ‘make best efforts’ to give him his soul back. I was under the impression that you were going to return it to him,” the angel said, air quotes and all.

“Don’t ruffle your feathers, Big Bird. I mean to give it back.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

“I thought we were past all this nonsense, Cas.”

“Are we, Crowley?” Castiel asked, squinting.

“I keep my word.”

“You concealed this from me.”

“Not really. You never asked about it, and I never told. That’s different, kitten.”

“Why are you holding onto it, anyway?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow. “Leverage. I need every bargaining chip I can manage these days, and Bobby Singer’s soul? Well, that’s a key piece. Something I can dangle over those Winchesters’ pretty little heads - something with _that much weight_ \- I’d be a fool not to use it to its full potential.”

Castiel didn’t like that. No… not one bit. Bobby Singer’s soul was not just a _thing_ , a piece on a gameboard… it was a human **soul**. And one of his _friends_. His lips pressed together in a thin line and he furrowed his brow. 

“It’s Bobby’s _soul_ , Crowley. It’s not a thing, and it’s certainly not something to play with,” Castiel argued.

“Don’t get your knickers all twisted up, ducky. I _told you_ , I’ll give it back.”

Castiel had Crowley by his lapels and up against the wall in a blink. “I don’t believe you,” he growled, his face inches from the demon’s.

“That’s too bad, kitten,” Crowley smirked.

“This isn’t a **joke** , demon.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You will give Bobby his soul back as soon as possible. None of this ‘best efforts’ nonsense. Are we clear?” Castiel said, jaw clenched.

“Crystal.”

“Good.” Cas shoved Crowley once more against the wall. He held him still for a moment before he could not help but slam his lips against the demon’s, biting at his lip and pushing with his tongue until Crowley’s mouth opened for him.

Crowley was a bit shocked, albeit pleased. It’d been awhile since the angel’s last visit and that had left him feeling a bit… well… _needy_. He growled into the kiss, meeting it with an equally passionate response. His hand flew to its favorite spot, around the back of the angel’s neck, holding him against his lips. He wasn’t going to let him flap away quite so easily, this time. If he could just remind the damned angel _why_ staying was good...

Castiel moved his hands to rest again the demon’s chest, holding him firmly in place against the wall. Warm, sure hands that he couldn’t resist. Oh, he’d missed this, too. Maybe as much as the kisses.

“How do I know you’ll keep your word to _me_... about Bobby’s soul?” the angel insisted against Crowley’s mouth, his words feral and his voice sandpaper-rough.

“Guess we’ll have to deal the deal all over again, won’t we, kitten?” he grinned, biting at Cas’ lips some more to encourage him on.

“I suppose we shall,” he said, pushing Crowley inexorably down to his knees.

Crowley hit the floor hard and he winced in pain, the shooting sensation going down into his calves and tingling unpleasantly. It had been a while since he’d knelt… for anyone. He looked up at Castiel in warm surprise. “Well, well, well… a little bossy, today aren’t we?”

“Stop talking, demon. I think you’ve twisted your words around enough today, don’t you?”

“What, you don’t like my vo--” 

Castiel had a hand over Crowley’s mouth at once. “Stop. Talking,” he smiled. 

Crowley couldn’t stop himself smiling back under that hand, tickling the angel in the process. It had been too long since Castiel had looked even remotely happy. On one hand, he was glad that having the Winchesters back in the angel’s life wasn’t filling Castiel with glee and joy, but on the other hand… he missed seeing him smile.

Cas unbuckled his belt, wasting no time in dropping his pants to the floor and grabbing his already hardening cock in one hand, and Crowley’s head in the other… pulling the demon close, knowing he would do exactly what the angel wanted him to. The demon watched with anticipation, his tongue stealing out to wet his lips. He’d not had any form of satisfaction since the last time the angel had spent the night - much to his own dick’s dismay - and he was pleased to see Cas was as hard for him as he was for the angel.

Crowley, of course, was dragging his tongue along the underside of the angel’s cock almost immediately, grinning up at him as he took him in as far as he could, hands around the back of Castiel’s thighs. Castiel’s length was a familiar, comforting weight in his mouth and he’d missed the taste of this, too. Missed running his tongue underneath until Cas hummed and his legs tensed under his fingers. The angel looked down and beamed at him - almost affectionately - running a hand through the demon’s short hair as he slurped and bobbed his head over Cas’ dick.

Castiel moaned and let himself enjoy the way Crowley’s tongue and lips slid easily along his shaft, so warm and slippery… in another blink, he shunted as deep in as he could go, holding Crowley in place and forcing his way into the demon’s throat. 

Crowley’s eyes watered as he choked just a little, the action taking him by surprise before he could totally suppress the reflex. His throat worked around the intrusion, and he blinked up at Cas, trying to read the pleasure on his face. For him, he’d choke. For him he’d do a lot more than choke, but being held in place like this severely limited his options to just… taking it. His hands moved up to the angel’s buttocks, rolling them between finger and thumb, trying so very hard to make it good.

And _damn_ was it ever **good**. Castiel grunted as he watched the demon’s eyes glazed over and he made that tiny, adorable little choked sound. The angel’s lips curled into a particularly _devilish_ smile. 

“That’s more like it, demon,” Cas growled. He closed his eyes and let himself get lost in the feeling.

Crowley tried to respond, but he had a mouth and throat full of angel, and the best he could do was let out a muffled agreement and swallow some more. Castiel seemed to get with the program, then, pulling further out and letting Crowley swallow the excess saliva noisily. He mouthed over the angel’s shaft, using his lips and pushing him up to bump into his palate. For a moment, Castiel let him do what he wanted, again, and Crowley was determined to show off. He didn’t get on his knees for just _anyone_ , after all, so when he did he wanted it to be special. He scraped with his teeth, worrying over the very crown, tongue messily rubbing against the slit… until a warning noise in the seraph’s throat made him relent.

Well. Almost. He kept it up just a little bit longer, but that was enough to provoke him. Cas shoved back into his mouth with a little grunt, and Crowley accepted it with grace. Accepted the shallow, fast thrusts that he had no choice but to take. Accepted it when suddenly there was a broad hand across his throat, choking the air out of him just as Castiel’s cock slid into the space the air left behind. His meatsuit protested - foot tapping the floor loudly - as he wheezed around it. The lack of oxygen made his head swim in an interesting… strangely addictive way. His eyes were closed, but he could see bright sparks behind his eyelids as the air in his body was used up… much like him. 

Crowley dug his fingernails into the firm, perfect ass underneath his fingers, trying to purr but finding he couldn’t. A frustrated huff and he opened his eyes, staring up. Mistake. Or not. Cas was staring back down at him with open pleasure… but it was animal lust. A physical need. And that made him feel… like scum. 

Of course, if that’s what Castiel wanted, it was what he would get. If he wanted a demon who would pull nasty tricks on him, who would try to snarl and scrape with his nails… whatever the angel needed, he was prepared to be. 

As much as Cas was enjoying the demon’s mouth, he pulled away abruptly, picking Crowley up by his neck and blipping over to the bed in the room and slamming the demon down on his back. Castiel wasted no time in ripping Crowley’s shirt open, buttons skittering to the floor as he grabbed him by his tie to sit him up and unceremoniously push off the shirt and jacket. He yanked the demon closer to him for a sloppy kiss before a snap left Crowley completely naked, save for the tie, of course.

Castiel grabbed the demon’s cock and stroked it roughly for a moment before flipping Crowley onto his belly and bending over him to whisper in his ear. 

“Is this what you want me to do, Crowley?” the angel rasped in the demon’s ear. “You want me to fuck you raw?”

But Crowley couldn’t answer clearly as the angel had a hold of his hair and his face shoved against the mattress. A garbled _yes_ was all he could manage.

Castiel pulled him up by his hair, nipping at the ear his lips brushed against, “What was that?”

“Yes,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Yes, kitten, I want you to fuck me raw. I want you to fuck me until my legs shake and until my body screams for you to stop. I want you to fuck the fear of God into me, Cas. _Please_.”

The noise that Castiel made was inhuman… it sounded much more like a tiger about to attack its prey and shred it to bits than an angel of the Lord… even an angel of the Lord that was about to fuck the Hell out of a demon.

Cas let go of Crowley’s hair and let him fall to the bed as he wrapped a hand around his own Grace-slicked cock. He stroked himself as he poked a slippery finger - then another - into the demon’s ass. He only pumped in and out a few times before he lined himself up against his tight entrance and pushed in oh-so-slowly. 

His hands were on either side of the demon as he waited a moment… he was much more worked up than he cared to admit. Cas waited until the demon squirmed beneath him, desperate for _more_ , pushing his ass against him. The angel was having none of this, though - he grabbed Crowley’s hips to stop him from moving.

“When I say, **demon** , and not a moment before then,” Cas growled.

“You’re a hard, hard man, Cas.”

It was a cheap shot, and Cas knew. But it was true, he was hard both ways. Hard and pushed all the way inside, and hard because he’d run out on this… whatever this was… the minute he’d seen the two boys back together again. Was it because Dean would see the mess that was Sam? Even though he didn’t know Castiel was responsible, surely Dean would be able to tell as soon as he looked at Castiel? Surely he would take one glance and see all this fucked-uppedness? 

The memory of Dean, and the thought of the disappointed look on his face just made him more violent. He grabbed at Crowley’s hands and slammed them onto the bed below them, squirming at the waist to drive into him with all his weight and force. Crowley groaned and writhed and loved every last minute of it, though he wondered if it would kill his mood to realise Cas was thinking of how upset the Winchesters would be with him. How they’d narrow their eyes and tell him ‘no’ if he said he’d been smart, said he’d made a deal but it was all under his control. Say he was fucking Crowley, but that was as far as it went. Not mention the nights spent just… together. Or how good it felt to have someone he could confide in, or ask for advice. Someone who understood what it was like at the top of the ladder. Cas pushed his nose through the demon’s short hair, breathing hot over his neck as he drove him harder and harder into the bed.

“Don’t you think,” he said, over the nape of his neck, “that you can continue to interfere with my human charges to provoke me.”

“W-wouldn’t… dream of it…” the demon lied.

“I will not stand for it, Crowley. They are not part of our deal.”

Technically not true. Sam being in, Dean being out, and Bobby’s soul being returned were all sealed with the most ancient of exchanges: his body, and Crowley’s. But he was not in the mood for technicalities right now. 

“Just… so long as you remember that, too,” he replied, his voice wavering a little. He was utterly pinned down and loving each last push inside, each grind that screwed him harder into the fine cotton sheets. “Your deal… is _with me_.”

Castiel bit into Crowley’s shoulder hard, _almost_ drawing blood. The demon hissed in response, hands clutching at the sheets as the angel fucked him feverishly. Cas kissed over the bite mark, flicking his tongue out on the reddened skin before sitting up abruptly. He pulled Crowley up on all fours, hands on the demon’s waist before sliding up his back. Castiel settled his hands on the King of Hell’s shoulders, pulling him back as the angel thrust forward.

Crowley’s eyes were closed, his lips parted as the problems of the real world melted away… at least for a little while. For now he could just lose himself in the feel of his angel above and inside him, like a protective shield between him and the things - the people - he did not want to face. He could pretend it was like it used to be. He shifted his weight to one hand, the other reaching up to glance fingers over the angel’s. He needed him to know he was still there. 

“We don’t need them,” Crowley said, his voice low and almost not-there. “We can do this without them.”

They couldn’t, of course, and the angel knew that. The Campbells and Winchesters were hunters born and bred. No amount of training of demons would bring them up to the same level, and they played a dangerous game even if they kept them out of the plot. Somehow or another, those brothers and their adoptive father wound up in the middle of everything. It was just… this way they could try to control it.

“Crowley--”

The demon took that as a warning to shut up, so he nodded mutely. It was not up for discussion, he understood. It was… off-limits. If the angel could leave those two topside, then Crowley would just have to cope with it.

He lowered his hand, clutching at the sheets as the rhythm mounted, the coiling heat low in his belly starting to boil over. His poor cock stood proudly below him - ignored - and all he could do was follow where the angel pushed and pulled. 

Castiel ran his nails along the demon’s back, light red marks appearing like magic where his fingers passed over: tracks of ownership, the terms of their deal. He needed to be closer to Crowley again, to feel the demon’s skin against his own. He guided the King of Hell back down to the bed once more, one hand snaking under Crowley’s arm only to curl around his wrist, fingers stroking where his pulse thrummed through his skin. His other hand grabbing - not so rough this time - at the demon’s hair, tilting his head back so the angel could nip and kiss at the place where his neck and jaw met. It never failed to make the demon melt when he did that, and he was pleased to note he still ‘had it’.

Castiel willed himself not to think about anything except the demon beneath him. He focused on the myriad noises Crowley made as Cas moved in him: the whimpers that escaped as the angel’s teeth moved over the demon’s skin, the grunts as Castiel pushed in as far as he could. What was it about the demon that drove him crazy? What was it that made him lose control? Made him forget about any and everything that was going on except fucking the demon into the bed… or wall… or couch… wherever they happened to be at the moment… 

Whatever it was, it was pushing Castiel closer and closer to his release, to that place where the only beings that existed were the King and his angel. He was moving less gracefully now, his breathing ragged and hot against the demon’s ear. 

“Crowley,” he growled. “--I’m…” and the angel stilled as he came in hot spurts inside of the demon… _his_ demon. He buried his face in Crowley’s neck, catching his breath for a moment. When he gathered his wits again, he withdrew from his lover: leaning to place a kiss on his lips before rolling off of him. Cas lay on his back, but tugged at the demon’s arm, trying to encourage him to roll onto his side and face him. Crowley made an undignified whimpering sound - his legs trembling as he’d asked for - and he moved to where Cas guided him. 

Cas was feeling sort of benevolent and giddy, the lingering warmth from his climax fuzzing his head. He grinned at Crowley - even his slightly-pained, needy expression seemed utterly perfect - and pressed his forehead to the demon’s. “Don’t worry. I know we both need to sign our names.”

Crowley - for once - did not match a snappy comeback. Instead he nodded, his jaw clenched and his throat working as he swallowed down whatever response he had in mind.

Cas laid his hand flat over Crowley’s heart, then slid it oh so gradually down over his torso, over his stomach, and then just a finger and thumb took his cock in their grasp. He noted with pleasure how the demon’s eyes seemed… darker than usual. The heat pinkening his cheeks. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, and it sort of hurt to see Crowley nod, to see his eyes drift shut as he struggled to stay still. 

Hands scrabbled for Castiel’s arms, and he leaned closer to lay tiny kisses to the demon’s cheeks, up over his face to the creases around the corner of his eyes. 

“Angel--”

“It’s okay, Crowley. I’ve got you,” Cas repeated, wrapping properly around his cock, then, and stroking brutally hard and fast. “Come on, demon. Seal the deal.”

The King nodded, his hands gripping tighter as he lost himself in the warm, loving sensation. Just them. Just the two of them. Didn’t need anyone else to mess things up. With a cry that was half the angel’s name, half victory and submission rolled into one, Crowley’s eyes scrunched shut as he came all over his angel’s hand. 

Castiel pressed his lips to his demon’s as he pulled every drop from Crowley’s dick, sliding his hand up and around Crowley’s waist as he smeared the evidence of their tryst all over the King’s stomach. It was still warm, but quickly drying: painting proof, marking their terms and his territory in one. Cas’ eyes narrowed as he wondered how many other lovers the demon had. Was he the latest in a very long string? Was he - even now - with someone else, too? He’d never thought to ask before, but now all of a sudden a sharp sting of jealousy knotted in his gut when he thought that those sighs and gasps might not be for him alone. He leaned in and bit down on Crowley’s mouth again, snarling a wordless claim. Crowley just moaned in bliss, offering his mouth as readily as he had his ass. Was he like this for everyone?

How many other deals had the King made since theirs? Castiel couldn’t help but hope and pray that Crowley had not signed any other contracts personally. Was it selfish of him? He had not been with anyone other than Crowley… but Castiel was gone frequently between the Winchesters needing him for something or another and the war in Heaven. They hadn’t really spoken about… _this_... whatever it was. What was it anyway? Did humans have relationships like this? Did they talk about it? Castiel was at such a loss as they remained tangled up in one another. He wasn’t even sure what he _wanted_ out of this. It felt good - if also, on some level, like a guilty pleasure - but it was… it was complicated. If he forgot that Crowley was a demon, and he an angel… then everything was fine. He could relax, he could enjoy things, and he could… imagine them continuing.

But Castiel was an angel. And Crowley was the King of Hell. Which meant that - fun as it was - this was utterly ridiculous. It should never have happened, and it should not be allowed to continue. No matter how… good it made him feel inside. No matter how… relaxed… he sometimes felt in the demon’s presence. 

No. Angels were not made to consort with demons.

Angels were not made for any of this.

“I must go.”

A hand around his wrist. Eyes the colour of lamplight in whisky. A look of hurt a damned soul had no right to show. 

Cas pulled until the hand finally let go. He swallowed hard - why did his vessel find air so thick at times like this? - and was up and dressed and standing six feet away before he could think about it again.

He should have left at once. He should never even have come. He should be dead, somewhere. A martyr to the cause of freedom, choice and decision. Instead? Instead he was playing some ridiculous love-game with the King of Hell. His eyes hurt like he’d been standing in a sandstorm, suddenly. 

_What would Dean think?_

He knew precisely what Dean would think. Which was why he needed to get those souls and win this war and then Heaven and Hell could go back to being as they always had been.

Castiel vanished.


	11. Chapter 11

Stupid angel making him agree to stupid deals. How did Crowley benefit from this? How? He had Bobby’s soul - probably he would have strongly considered giving it back at some point when it was beneficial to him - and now he had to _give it back_ because Cas said so. Because Cas said so, he’d said yes, and they’d… well. Signed on it, and Crowley never held out on his deals. He’d had the Hunter’s soul for one of the ten years he was going to keep his name scratched on it for, but Bobby had gone and told the brothers and of course Castiel had finally found out the truth. It wasn’t as if it was a lie, per se, it was just an… omission that had kept him from confessing to the contractual… awkwardness.

It was supposed to be leverage to hold over the Winchesters. Supposed to be an additional chip on the table, to keep his arse out of an early second death. But what had he traded it for? Another night in bed with Castiel. 

Why?

Sure, the sex was good. Better than he’d had in a long time. But was he really worth risking his life? Crowley was finding it harder to ignore the fact that… well. It meant something. It had started to _be_ something. In his eyes, at least. Castiel was someone he could confide in, someone he could trust, and someone he could… enjoy spending time with. It was no longer just a professional relationship with the added bonus of physical release. Now? Now it was… it was something he just wanted. It had all been going so well until the brothers reunited. 

He’d been a fool to think it would - could - continue indefinitely, but it hadn’t stopped him hoping.

He was going to have to admit it to himself, if no one else. He had fallen for him. He’d fallen for him hard. He hurt whenever the angel hurt, and he just wanted to see him happy. He missed him every night he was gone, and he wasn’t even sure he _needed_ Purgatory, any more. Since the angel had destroyed his most staunch detractors, the whispers in Hell had lessened. He could stop, if he wanted. Focus on running the show… but that would mean breaking a deal, which he wouldn’t do. Couldn’t, even if he felt inclined to. Cas needed those souls more than he did, now, and Crowley felt honour-bound to help the angel any way he could.

But the whole Bobby thing was a mess. He couldn’t just turn up and offer him his soul back, after refusing it. They would naturally second-guess it, and not take it at face value, and he would run the risk of accidentally exposing the angel. As much as Crowley didn’t want Castiel to be so hung up on them, or to spend so much time with them… he was aware that if the brothers found out about their… ‘deal’... they would try (and probably succeed) to convince him to break it off. Cas hadn’t told them, because he respected their opinion and because he didn’t want to have to hear it. 

So how in the Hell was he going to get out of this on top? He couldn’t make it seem like it was his choice, even though it was. He had to let them feel they had won. He had to trick them into feeling superior to him, much as it rankled his professional and personal pride.

There was only one person he could think of who could help with this.

Cecily, of course, came the moment he called for her. She listened patiently as he explained… leaving out the parts about the angel, naturally. 

“What you need to do? Is to make them think they’ve got something over you. Something where they would think you would be in harm’s way, because then it’s self-preservation: gotta look out for number one, ya know?” she paused for a moment. 

Crowley nodded… she really was clever. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Clearly he’d been too blinded by whatever was going on with the angel. Oh well, that’s what good help was for.

“So… tell me, my King… what would be some things that could potentially get a rise out of you?” She grinned at him, probably relishing the chance to get him to admit his weaknesses, for once.

Crowley smirked at the innuendo. “Well, let’s see… the angel blade, for starters. There’s the demon knife that could be worrisome… the whole exorcism thing… someone stumbling across my bones and burning them could be detrimental to my health…” he trailed off.

“Bones! That’d be perf! Because it wouldn’t actually pose any real threat to you to use some rando’s bones that we found, right? And you could just flame up and disappear or something, right?”

“I suppose so…” Clever, clever girl. He thought for a moment, not entirely convinced she was one hundred percent on Team Crowley, but - then again - here she was, plotting with him. “I actually have gone through painstaking efforts to set up a an entirely fake human life. Complete with backstory and supporting evidence.”

“Impressive, boss,” she smiled. “We’ll just use that backstory and feed the Winchesters the fake info and voilà! No real threat of harm to you, they chase the white rabbit down the hole, and you can give the soul back, easy peasy.”

“Bloody brilliant.” He was losing his touch, if he hadn’t thought of it. Of course, the ‘Fergus McLeod’ backstory had taken a lot of researching to make it believable, and it was a shame to waste such a complicated escape plan, but he’d backed himself into a corner over this and he really needed an out. “Now, here’s a list of things you’ll need to know. Plant the trail… I’ll be in touch with you as soon as possible.”

“No problemo, boss-man. This will be easy as pie. You’ve already done all the hard work, it’s just leaving the breadcrumb trail where the humans will go sniffing and - hey presto - instant win.”

Not quite instant, but he appreciated her cheery demeanour at times. Hell was all too often grim. 

“I’m also going to need something else to keep the Hunters off my back. Having Sam as leverage is good, but the more things I throw at them the better. They’re… smart. Outwitted Lucifer, with a bit of help from yours truly and Death, of course. Can’t have them meddling too much in my affairs.”

“Not to mention if they are so busy working Alpha cases and all the cooky shit that’s been happening, they might get enough glimpses of the bigger picture to start piecing it together.”

“Precisely my thoughts. We need to… distract them. You know. Throw the odd curve-ball their way. Break their attention span and keep them from getting comfortable.”

“So - like - a freak of the week?”

God, did he ever talk like this? Crowley shook his head in amusement. “Yes. A freak of the week. Send some annoying creatures after them to keep them off my scent. And also because it’s funny.”

“I can look into some summoning spells and the like,” she suggested. 

“Perfect. I knew you’d work something out for me. Oh, and Cecily?” Crowley said, standing up behind his desk.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

She batted her hand airily, as if brushing off the compliment before it made her blush too hard. “Don’t mention it,” she smiled, heading out the door.

***

“Bobby does not have his soul,” Cas said, as soon as he appeared the next night. “You said you would return it.”

“Yes, and I didn’t stipulate _when_ or _how_ \-- wait! Before you get all smite-happy, hear me out.”

Castiel frowned, but said nothing more. 

“I can’t very well just… give it up.”

“Why not?”

“You’re joking, right? Why would Bobby accept that? He’d want to know why. Plus… I can’t be seen to change my mind on a whim. I have to be resolute.”

“This is sounding like excuses to me.”

“Not excuses. Tactics. I’ve already spoon-fed him some walk in the park demons he can torture to start tracking down the ‘real Crowley’.”

The lack of air-quotes clearly confused him. “How does this benefit you? Putting yourself at risk like this?”

“Oh for… it’s not really me, angel. It’s a sham. A paper exercise. Smoke, mirrors, the whole nine yards. It will give them something to keep occupied with, and at the end of it they get to feel smugly superior and I get to look worried and back-footed and you get to stop hounding my ass. Well. In the bad way. You can hound it all you--”

“As long as Bobby is restored.”

Right. Business as usual. Of course. 

“You’re going to have to trust me at some point, Cas. Have I ever steered you wrong yet?”

Implacable blue eyes stared back. 

“Fine, fine. Have it your way. Be a sour puss for the rest of your life. But you’re going to have to work out who you can really rely on before the end, with this war.”

“And you are one of them?”

“Didn’t see Dean saving your sorry feathered ass when big brother came along, did I?”

Clearly that was a step too far, because Castiel vanished again. 

Fucking angel.

***

Castiel left Crowley in a hurry, frustrated by his comments. It was not true. He could trust other people just fine. Sam and Dean would assist - probably - and although Balthazar was enjoying his new found hedonism, he had a good heart, somewhere, and… who was he kidding?

Sam and Dean were busy doing what Sam and Dean did. They kept praying to him for help - usually at the worst possible moment - and they always seemed annoyed when they spoke to him. He’d pulled them both from Hell, given Dean the space to live his life and - hah - rebelled against Heaven itself for them. But now? Now he watched them hunting the Lamia and he knew if he went to them to ask for assistance, if he explained his whole situation… that they would not be happy with him. They would not understand. All he had done - all he had sacrificed - and most likely they would trap him in holy oil and scream at him to stop.

Then there was Balthazar. Balthazar was no longer the angel he remembered. Now he was footloose and fancy free, and he thought nothing of stealing from their Father, or from humanity. Balthazar who had been buying and selling souls like a common demon… and for what? Personal gain. At least he and Crowley were doing it for good reasons…

As he watched them, the other angels he’d summoned appeared around him. He could kill two birds with one stone, after all, and the discussion with Crowley had made him nervous about the brothers’ wellbeing. Especially around something as atypical as a Lamia. Why was it even here?

“The force is ready,” Rachel - his lieutenant - said quietly. “We can go the minute you give the signal to.”

Castiel turned and eyed the troops. They numbered twenty in total. Amongst their ranks were himself; Rachel; Tovah - the youngest of their ‘garrison’ who had no combat experience whatsoever; Aaron - who had no business being in a strike force, but who had brought the intelligence this whole attack was planned on, and who insisted he see it through; and Bartholomew - the angel with the most experience in fighting, who was there second-guessing everything Castiel ordered… or so Castiel could see in his eyes. He doubted, and when Bartholomew doubted Castiel worried, but he stated his plan more clearly and more surely and if the sceptic was convinced by his assertions then Castiel could almost believe his plans would work.

“This will not be easy,” Cas said, tearing his attention away from the brothers in the background. “It is a calculated risk. Our numbers have always been fewer, and they will continue to decrease if we do not act. This is going to be difficult, but necessary.”

“You all know your roles,” Rachel jumped in, and he was glad to see. She was becoming much more confident recently - much better at making her own decisions. “When we arrive, you must not hesitate. We must all stick as closely to the plan as we can. Remember you must watch out for your ‘wing man’...”

Castiel tried not to smile. Apparently all his time amongst the humans had rubbed off more than he thought, if Rachel was copying him copying them. 

“We are all ready,” Bartholomew agreed. “If we are going to do this, then we should do this now. We are relying on the element of surprise.”

“Agreed,” Cas said. “No more talking. It is time to show Raphael what we can do.”

With a flap they were gone, and up in Heaven. Aaron’s intelligence seemed to be perfect, because this was some form of strong-hold, deep within Raphael’s camp. There must have been thirty-five loyalists, there, and somewhere close by was Raphael himself. Fortunately he was not in the room, and the small incursion force spread out according to plan. 

Rachel stood to his right - angel blade already out - and they led the charge into the bulwark of the troops. Bright, heavenly light flared out as he sunk his weapon deep into the chest of one of Raphael’s most trusted, and he heard the cry of anguish as Rachel did the same.

They moved in perfect unison, communicating silently through their pre-arranged signals over the angelic radio-waves. Down went two more, then another two, then three… it was chaos, pure and simple, but Castiel was born to fight and as he forced the de-facto leader down to his knees with his blade across the other angel’s throat. Benjamin lifted his head proudly, even in defeat. Blackened wing-marks covered the walls and floor, both sides having lost angels… but Cas knew they were completely triumphant. 

Raphael did not show. For whatever reason, the attack had spooked him and where Cas expected a confrontation… he was met instead with reluctant surrender. 

Around him, his surviving troops cheered and congratulated one another. Cas’ fingers tightened in his brother’s hair. What did he do next? What was the protocol? This was the first major victory they had accomplished, and he was at a loss how to finish it off. Did he offer them all their lives if they surrendered completely? Did he put them under ‘house arrest’? Did he trust any who offered to switch allegiance?

Rachel laid a hand on his shoulder, smiling widely at him. “We did it.”

“We did.”

“They are calling for you, Castiel. They are calling for our General to return to the garrison in triumph.”

He knew. He could hear his name on the lips of his brethren in his mind. He could hear the way the air thrummed with a victory-song. 

“You should go. You should go and let them praise you. You have earned it, my leader.”

“Come with me,” he insisted. “You, and Aaron. This is as much your victory as it is mine. The prisoners can be secured, and we can spread the good news in person.”

“Of course.”

He turned… and Bartholomew caught his eye first. “Take care of them. This is the day we prove we can be victorious.”

“Anything you command.”


	12. Chapter 12

Crowley returned with the bones to his office where Castiel was already waiting for him and tossed the bag onto the floor in front of the angel. The seraph curiously picked it up and looked inside, before turning it upside down and dumping the contents out all over the expensive rug. 

“Castiel! All over the rug, really? Besides, show a little respect, would you?” Crowley smirked, looking at the pile of dirty bones on the floor. “Alas, poor Fergus… I knew him, Castiel. Well, not really, but same difference, eh?” he shrugged with a bit of a chuckle.

The angel sighed, pressing his lips together. “Crowley--”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. It’s only dust and bones. Those old things mean nothing to me, after all… Oh, angel, you should have seen me. I was _magnificent_ if I do say so, myself. I may have been born to direct, but I still have what it takes to tread those boards, darling…”

The demon was in full swing, now, drunk on his success and crowing. Castiel tilted his head to one side - not used to such effusive behaviour - not sure what to make of this new… bubbly… Crowley.

“You know, they really bought it? I think my reaction to Gavin was the best part. For a minute I fooled them with the fooling fool part, I mean the fake-fake-hurt, before the fake-not-hurt, over the real-not-care… it’s all very meta, you know. Acting about acting. Not everyone can pull that level of artifice off.”

“I am not sure I understand anything you are saying right now, Crowley.”

But the demon was fanning his face like an old thespian queen. “It’s simple, my fine feathered friend. I was acting that I was acting. A play within a play. So many levels - like Inception - that the dumb hick will never get to the bottom of it. Oh you should have seen the smug looks on their faces. They really think they got one over on me! Me! King of Hell, sweetie! As if I’d let myself be so easily caught!”

“So Bobby has his soul back,” Cas jumped in, trying to slow the flow of words from the demon’s chattering lips. “And all is resolved?”

“You make it sound so simple… but yes. I told the Brady Bunch to get bent and…” a deep, low, theatrical bow, “...here I am. Intact, entire, incomparable.”

“I am… pleased,” Castiel said, though he sounded anything but.

The demon tripped closer on dancer-light feet. “Not even a little smile? A tiny round of applause? No bunch of flowers for the Leading Lady?”

“You are no lady, Crowley.”

“Still, a little flattery would go a long way, ducky. I did do you a massive favour, after all, and burnt an alias several hundred years in the making just to appease your insane human love.”

“Was it your only alias?” Cas asked, trying to calm the conversation down from references he was not au fait with. 

“Fergus? Oh, god no. But he was my most… fleshed out. I’ve had many a name over my life, my angelic one. And as most Americans are too stupid to tell a Scottish accent from an English accent… it suited well enough for this purpose.”

“Do you even still remember your… first name?”

“I remember _all_ my names, Cas.”

“...then why ‘Crowley’?”

“It fits. It fits who I am right now. It might not always fit me, but for the moment? It’s me.”

Cas nodded.

“Speaking of what fits me…” Crowley said, snapping away the mess of bones back into the bag and into the corner. Fastidious to the last. “I’d say you fit me pretty damn well, angel.”

“Would you, _Crowley_?” Cas smirked.

The King of Hell had Castiel up against the wall, palming the angel’s crotch through his pants. “Yes,” he hissed before slamming their lips together. 

Castiel thrust his hips forward into Crowley’s hand, grabbing the back of the demon’s head as he kissed back with just as much fervour. Crowley fumbled briefly with the belt buckle on his lover’s pants before finally undoing it, the button, and the zipper all at once. His hand immediately wrapped around the angel’s cock, finding him already rising to the occasion.

The angel would not be subdued so quickly - or easily - and he flipped them around, slamming Crowley’s back against the wall, tearing into the demon’s pants and reciprocating his actions. Their wrists rubbed together as they stroked one another, back to trying to out-compete the other.

“Not today, angel,” Crowley insisted, ducking out from under the angel’s arms in a flash, pushing him face first into the wall, pinning him down with his forearm across the back of Castiel’s neck. He shoved his dick up against the angel’s ass, reaching around to jack Cas’ cock unforgivingly hard as he rutted up against him.

Castiel turned his head to look back as much as he was allowed at Crowley, his eyes narrowed. “This is an interesting side of you, _Crowley_.”

“I’m quite multi-dimensional, multi-talented, multi-facted… I also told you from the get-go that I’m very interesting, didn’t I?” he said, nipping at the angel’s ear.

“What’s your name?”

“Sweetheart, you **know** my name.”

Cas grunted, rutting into Crowley’s hand like an animal. “No,” he growled. “Your _real_ name.”

“Now’s not the time.” Crowley was not about to give up all his secrets that easily, reaching between Castiel’s legs to grab and squeeze at his balls. The demon let his fingers slide back towards him, teasing over the angel’s hole, barely pushing in until the angel was squirming his ass back against Crowley, needy and insistent. 

“It’s… it’s the perfect time,” Cas breathed, reaching for Crowley’s… well… for anything he could reach. He was having a hard time focussing under all the attention, under the sudden whirlwind that was Crowley in a chipper mood. It was better than he’d been in a long time, and Cas was swept away by the sudden gust of enthusiasm. His fingers tangled in a sleeve, but that was the extent of his capability.

“Ah, ah,” Crowley tutted, snapping the angel’s hands against the wall and keeping them in place with just a thought. “For once, Cas, don’t you think I get to call the shots?”

Castiel decided to let the demon do as he pleased this time. To be honest, the seraph was kind of enjoying this dominant side of the demon: normally he preferred his King to kneel in front of him, but he supposed this was acceptable on occasion. Especially when Crowley was so damnably happy… he’d been so tense and angry of late that Cas hadn’t wanted to come around as often. Partially because he didn’t want to start more fights, but also - if he was honest - because he knew the more he came, the harder it would be to stay away again. Crowley was like a drug he was utterly addicted to. 

The angel didn’t answer, but his silence was answer enough. Crowley had let his cock go... in favour of pushing magic-slicked fingers into him. He shuffled his feet a little further apart, giving him the base he needed to bend at the waist and shove his ass out obligingly. He knew first-hand, now, how good it felt to let the demon penetrate him, and he bit his lower lip to keep the sounds inside. Crowley was rougher than the last time, and it dragged over his nerve-endings as the demon stuffed two fingers into him. Cas could take it. Cas was still an angel inside the vessel, and the vessel was more forgiving that way. He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the cool wall, pushing back just a little to try and get those fingers in deeper. The sooner he was sufficiently ready for what came next, the better.

“You like that, do you, kitten? You like having the King of Hell finger your ass wide open?”

Cas’ brow creased in a frown. Wasn’t it patently obvious from the way he was arching into it? By the way his toes curled into his shoes and his fingernails were scraping the wall? His jaw clenched and he suppressed an annoyed noise, huffing his breath when the torturously slow movement stopped. Damnit.

“You don’t? You’d rather I stopped? Something else you’d rather have? A nice cup of tea and a sit down?”

“ _Demon_....”

“ **That is not my name** ,” the King snapped, suddenly shoving three fingers in and reaming the seraph wide. 

Cas couldn’t hide the gasp, or the way his eyes rolled up in his head. It was so strange, but so good, too. His foot tapped furiously at the floor, his hands struggling against the magic holding him still. He needed - _needed_ \- to move.

“You… won’t… tell me your name,” he grit out, past teeth that were locked in place. “How do you… expect me to scream it… if I don’t know it?”

“My name? Right now?” His words were spat against the angel’s ear. “Is Crowley.” Another shunt of his hand, making Cas arch up onto the balls of his feet and then choke on a whimper.

“I want to know who you _were_ ,” Cas protested, knowing he did not have the upper hand in this situation. Crowley had all of the power, and Cas was the one being played like a puppet. It was… thrilling, but also terrifying. 

“Who I was is not important. Who I am now? Is. King of Hell. Leader of the damned. It’s who you’re dealing with, ducky, not the me of yesteryear.”

“But it… it is part of who you are…” He knew his protests were weak, and he knew he was practically ruining Crowley’s sudden high, but… it felt important, to him. That and perhaps he didn’t like feeling so utterly out of control. He had no right to insist, but… he peered back dolefully at the demon, suddenly aware that Crowley knew more about him, than he did the demon.

All at once, those fingers that were still in him moved. Crowley had clearly had enough of his line of questioning, and was choosing to distract him with the touches he now considered almost secondary to this revelation of his own ignorance. 

“Later, Cas, later. I just pulled off the most impressive triple bluff over those dumb-fuck Hunters… let me… rest on my laurels for a while?”

He sounded almost - almost - hurt. Cas realised that Crowley literally had done it all to please him, and here he was being obstinate about something as simple as a name. Crowley hadn’t needed to agree to release the Hunter’s soul… which meant it was a gift, of sorts. Something sort of… thawed in his chest, making him feel… bigger. 

“You were, indeed, magnificent,” he offered, quietly. “They do not suspect a thing.”

Crowley’s hand was moving again - the fingers inside of him curling, stroking - and Cas shuffled about on his feet. The strange, mounting tightness in his balls was there again. 

“I was, Cas. I was.” He nuzzled against the angel’s nape, a little purr that Cas never expected to hear. “Now you have to keep your pets away from me.”

“I will,” he promised, confused but… pleased with the sudden twang in the demon’s voice. “I will.”

Crowley’s fingers did something, then. Something that made Cas yelp in shock. It was like he’d somehow touched his cock… but from the inside? “Crowley, what was--?”

“Shhh, Cas. I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, yet. Wasn’t gonna teach you them all in one go, was I?”

Cas made a frustrated, impatient little snort and then - damnit! - there was that feeling again. What was the demon doing? “I don’t understand…”

“Did you know,” Crowley started, his voice back to sandpaper-rough, the twinkle in his eyes all but _audible_ , “...that I can make you come, screaming my name, without ever once touching your dick?”

But which name, Cas thought to himself. The demon-name, the fake-name, or the real one? “...I see.”

“You see? No, I don’t think you do. Not yet, anyway.”

“In that case, perhaps you should show me.”

“You gonna beg?”

Cas’ back stiffened. He was allowing the King of Hell to pin him to the wall, deep down in the pit itself. His pants were around his ankles and the demon had three fingers shoved rudely into his vessel. Why would begging be out of the question?

“...no.”

“You sure?”

Cas was not. Crowley’s hand worked in him, slow and sure. He grunted and then it was like he was on the edge of something, like he was hovering somewhere, or like the sun was just under the horizon and he could smell the light, but not see it. 

“Tell me your name,” he insisted. Two could play at this game.

“Beg me for it, and I’ll let you come screaming it.”

Cas flared, angrily. This was not right. So very not right. An _angel_ did not beg a _demon_. Did not beg _anyone_.

“Crowley, I am--”

_Fuck_. There was a strange, coiling, arcing pleasure swirling through him as Crowley _did things_ with his fingers, as he moved them in strange ways like he was casting spells right within the angel’s vessel. He didn’t hear any chanting, but he could feel the flickers that tingled and stung like magic and he hissed out in desperation. 

“ **Crowley**.” A warning, not a request. He could feel his Grace tightening inside. Could feel those souls that swirled around his core. He was bright and glorious. He was radiant and strong. He could will away the magic keeping him held in place. He could flip and change their positions… but if he did so, he would lose those fingers, lose this arcane knowledge that Crowley was willing to impart. He wanted it. He wanted to know these things. He wanted to know how to make Crowley come screaming his name with just his fingers inside.

“Crowley…”

The demon’s breath was hot and filled with unvoiced laughter, filled with… something else.

“ _Please_ ,” he said, at last. He hoped to Hell it was enough, because he wasn’t sure he could say the things he wanted aloud. He hoped it was a sufficient show of surrender, of defeat.

The King of Hell rose up to nuzzle at his ear, and he whispered a name - in a tongue as old as the hills - just as his hand did more of that strange, ancient witchcraft inside him and Cas bellowed out the word - the name - the knowledge as he came all over the demon’s wall.


	13. Chapter 13

“We have a lead on the Alpha Vampire,” Castiel announced, the minute he arrived. 

Crowley rolled his eyes at the regression of the seraph’s social skills. “Hello to you, too, love.”

“The Winchesters and Campbells should have him soon.”

“I know. I have been keeping an eye on the situation, too, you know.”

“Then I shall stop coming to--”

“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m just saying I know. And I have to say… I’m impressed?”

The angel’s head tilted to one side. “Why?”

“Letting Dean get half-turned? Bold move. I expected it of Sam, of course, but I _know_ you have a hard-on for the little punk. Must have been difficult for you to see him becoming… a monster.”

“It was… in hand.”

“What would you have done if he went all-out-fang? I don’t see you as a blood-sucker groupie. Would you have let Samuel…” the demon made a whistling noise and mimicked decapitation.

Castiel grimaced, not liking the implication. “The point is moot. Dean is safe. We have a lead.”

“Good. Because this is taking much longer than I wanted it to.”

“At least _Hell_ is secure, now.”

“And what, exactly, is that supposed to imply?”

“Xaphan is dead, Crowley. Raphael is still alive.”

“Yes, and I still have Lucifer loyalists like that moron Meg running around. Do you really think I’m stretching this out for the good of my health?”

“You have less… incentive to deliver quickly.”

“Mind your tongue, angel. I want Purgatory just as much as you do. If you haven’t noticed, I am one hundred percent committed to this - _my_ \- plan. I have demons working flat out on this. I’ve captured several Alphas and I’m getting close to a map. I’m not the one keep running off to stare at humans instead of secure my home.”

“ _The Winchesters are vital to our plan._ ”

“Not so vital as you think. We were doing just fine before Dean came along, you know.”

“Dean’s involvement was an unavoidable mistake, Crowley, and you know it. I cannot fight a battle on three sides at once.”

“Three? Really? Raphael, the Winchesters and… me? I’m the enemy, suddenly?”

“That is not what I meant.”

“It’s what it sounded like.”

“I need…” Cas stirred, feeling uncomfortable. “I need more.”

“More what, pray tell? More people sick of the sight of you?”

Blue eyes narrowed angrily. “Souls.”

“Yes. Hence this whole--” a wide sweep of the arm “--plan.”

“No. I need them _now_.”

“And you expect me to just…” fingersnap, “make them appear?”

“You have access to Hell’s souls. I need more.”

“No can do.”

Cas’ head tilted and he frowned. “No?”

“Hard of hearing, too, now? I said: No can do.”

“Why?”

“I can’t just… Cas. This is _Hell_ , not Diet Heaven. It’s a business, at the end of the day. I took a calculated risk in loaning you the souls I did. You can’t just keep demanding more. It’s a stopgap, not a solution.”

“Crowley… Raphael must not succeed.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think we’re on the same page? Haven’t you got it into your pretty-but-thick skull yet?”

“Then why are you refusing?”

“Because I have to keep Hell safe! Didn’t you see how close Xaphan came to riding roughshod over everything we’ve done? Not to mention that jumped up little dickwad Scotius? I might have control for the moment, but Hell is on shaky grounds, Cas, and I _cannot_ risk another insurrection. I cannot.”

“And if Raphael frees the other archangels?”

“You’re just going to have to make sure he doesn’t.”

Castiel decided enough was enough. He vanished without a word, leaving the demon angry all over again.

***

Cecily placed the neatly compiled folder in Crowley’s hands with a grin.

“ _Monster of the Week_? Really?” he couldn’t help but give a small chuckle, his own lips quirking into an answering smile.

“What? It’s hilarious and you know it.”

Crowley gave an approving nod as he looked through the neatly typed pages describing in graphic detail monsters, lore, and how to find them. He flipped through them, licking his finger after each page.

“Fat-sucking parasite?” he raised an eyebrow, looking up at Cecily. “What is this, Doctor Who?”

Cecily shrugged. “You said you wanted monsters, boss. I give you your very own Monster Book of Monsters.”

Crowley flipped back a few pages, nodding for Cecily to come stand next to him, which she gladly did, her arm brushing against the fine fabric of his suit. He noticed it, of course, but he didn’t move to stop her. “This one, and… the next one. Amazon Warriors are a bit cliché, don’t you think?”

“Whatever gets the Winchesters off your tail is the end game, though, right?” 

The older demon shrugged and raised his eyebrows in agreement. “Oh, definitely this one,” he purred, looking up at her - head tilted and almost getting a face full of cleavage because of her sudden proximity - and he gave her a little grin. “Imagine the surprise on their faces.”

Cecily nudged Crowley’s arm with her elbow, grinning. “They’ll never know what hit ‘em. Sneaky King.” A sly wink. “Any particular order you wish to unleash the monsters in?”

“I trust you’ll be able to handle that part just fine, darling,” Crowley handed the folder back to her, brushing his hand against hers and letting it linger just a bit longer than he normally would. He shouldn’t, but… she was already far too close, and a little more contact didn’t hurt, right?

“I’ll get started right away then.” Cecily was getting a _little_ better at stopping her cheeks from flushing a pretty pink in the King’s presence, but whenever Crowley referred to her as ‘darling’ or ‘sweetheart’ her cheeks burned red like the setting sun.

He probably shouldn’t, but he let his eyes wander over her meatsuit, causing more of a smile in the younger demon than he’d meant to, but oh, well. After all, it was harmless flirting, right? Designed to give the pretty little demon a bit of incentive to perform well for the King.

“I’ll text you the deets,” she smiled, turning to sashay out of his office again with more wiggle in her butt than was entirely necessary.

Crowley watched as she left, eyes fixated on those legs. He let his mind wander a bit as he watched her bouncing out of the office… It really was a pity he was just not that into her. Of course… he was too hung up on that damn angel. 

The girl was bloody brilliant, too - just his type, he thought, his brow creasing with a frown. It was a shame he hadn’t found out about her sooner… at least in the whole Hellish war aspect of it. Perhaps his kingdom would be a little more stable currently if he’d had her on his side from the get-go. As it currently stood, Crowley felt like Hell was a car that had half-driven off a cliff, front end threatening to barrel into the earth below, killing everyone inside and anyone who stood in the way, and he was furiously gunning the engine in reverse and yelling at everyone to jump into the back seat to level it out.

His eyes glanced back towards the bed he and Castiel shared - less and less these days - and he let himself wonder for a moment what Cas was doing right now… and if he was thinking about Crowley? _No._ Not now, Crowley, pull yourself together. 

The King of Hell stretched his neck, straightened his tie and his suit jacket and headed out. 

He had work to do.

Castiel materialised after Crowley left the office. The Angel of Thursday had heard every word, he had seen every touch, and he saw the way Crowley spent far too much time looking at the female demon leaving the room.

_What the Hell was that about?_

Cas and Crowley hadn’t discussed their… whatever it was that they had, but the angel was fairly certain that there were… boundaries? Castiel hadn’t been with anyone else they way he’d been with Crowley… was this how Crowley was spending his time? With Cecily? Did they… did they do the things that Castiel and the King of Hell did?

The angel didn’t realize the way his jaw clenched so tightly, or the way his fists had balled up, or notice the mounting heat that rose in him… he was… angry? Jealous? Both? Who was Castiel to think he had sole claim on the King… perhaps he and Cecily had sealed a deal as well?

The corner of Castiel’s mouth twitched upward into a snarl. Why did the thought of someone else in the bed that he and Crowley used to frequent so often anger him so much? The thought of that demon _bitch_ screaming Crowley’s name as he - **No.**

Cas didn’t even remember what the Hell he came to talk to Crowley about. He was furious. Now might be a good time to go back up to Heaven and unleash this rage on some of Raphael’s men. Yes. War. Smiting. Good.

The angel vanished once more.

***

“Castiel - my darling - what brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“Is it Gabriel’s?”

“Is what Gabriel’s?” Balthazar asked, frowning.

“The Horn. Is it his?”

“I’m going to go with a ‘no’, because last I heard it was locked in my cache and--”

The seraph vanished as quickly as he arrived.

Balthazar’s eyebrows reached for his hairline. He suspected Castiel would be back and - sure enough - a few minutes later he was. 

“You staying this time, or is this the Speed Dating version of the Spanish Inquisition?”

“I had a matter to attend to.”

“Clearly. Cas… you don’t write, you don’t call…”

“I am trying to save Heaven, Balthazar, as you know.”

“I think perhaps you mentioned it a few thousand times in the past month or two, yes.”

“Are you any further along with procuring me souls?”

“You’re kind of leaving my hands tied, you know? If I can’t buy them or kill them… there’s not much I can do. Old Pete on the Gate won’t take any palm greasing, and the only other things I can think of are so deplorable even I shudder to attempt.”

“I must find a way.”

“I know, I know. I’m brainstorming whenever I can. Don’t worry: if there is a way, I’ll find it. Now what was all that kerfuffle about Gabriel?”

“Dean thought he had encountered the Horn of Truth.”

The other angel whistled through his teeth. “I see. Dangerous thing, the truth.”

Castiel was not moved by the attempted jibe, and he stared right through Balthazar.

“Course, it would work on an angel, too, so it’s probably for the best that he didn’t have it, isn’t it?”

“It is not in his possession… it is… a ‘case’.”

“Still. No one likes being made to utter hard facts, do they? Uncouched in all the niceties of civilisation.”

“I have no secrets to hide.”

“We _all_ have secrets. You wouldn’t have been here so fast if you didn’t, Cassie.”

“Concealing tactics is not lying.”

“It isn’t truthing, either.”

“It is a necessary--”

“Evil?” Balthazar suggested. “Look. I’m not here to rattle your cage. I’m just pointing out it’s a good thing that I still have all those nasty little toys locked away in my arsenal. The damage they could do if they got out in the big, bad world?”

“They could end this war.”

“They could end a lot of things, and they are my only insurance policy. I will get your souls, Cas, but that’s as far as I will go.”

The seraph vanished without so much as a thank you.


	14. Chapter 14

Cecily had finally given in to Scotius’ persistent requests to take her out on a date. She was doing it more to be nice to him (and to stop him from hounding her) than anything else. It felt a little bit wrong, really: she was more hung up on Crowley than she cared to admit. 

Not to mention she was confused by Crowley’s behaviour, too. He _seemed_ sort of into her, but he never acted on it. His body language and tone said one thing, but his actions another, and Cecily wasn’t sure she’d read his hints well enough to attempt making a move on the King of Hell. Besides… wasn’t he with that angel, or something? They were sure as Hell working together, but there had been a strange look in the King’s eye when she’d brought her evidence to him, that time. If she didn’t know better, she’d have assumed they were an item.

So, she decided to give Scotius a shot. He was, after all, attractive - and a good kisser. He had a stable position, now he’d stopped holding out on their King, and he was clearly interested in her which was more than she could be certain she could say about Crowley. (And then, of course, there were the issues in dating the boss. All fine while it worked, but if it ever didn’t…) 

He’d asked her to meet up at restaurant she’d never heard of. She assumed it was new - which either meant this would be the best service ever, or the experience would be horrible - and she followed the hostess to a small back room, fixing her hair nervously again and clutching at her purse.

“Cecily, no!” Scotius screamed as the hostess shoved Cecily towards him.

“Another win for Lucifer,” the hostess laughed, pointing up to the ceiling where a devil’s trap was painted. “Have fun, the pair of you, you’ll be stuck here for awhile.”

“Fuck you, bitch!” Scotius yelled after the hostess. 

“What the Hell?” 

“Wonder what I’m doing wrong that she’s doing right,” Scotius laughed, dropping down to sit on the floor, leaning back on his wrists.

“What?” Cecily turned back towards Scotius.

“I’ve been asking you out for awhile now… that bitch sets us up on a fake date and all of a sudden you say yes?”

Cecily shrugged. “Maybe you just wore me down. You’re wicked persistent, you know.” She offered him a smile and fished her cell phone from her purse to call Crowley. Anyone who said ‘another win for Lucifer’ was no doubt a threat to him… but he didn’t answer. She sent a text that also went without a response. 

She called once more, knowing full well if he didn’t answer her immediately, he was nowhere near his phone. He was either torturing monsters, with the angel, or… she didn’t really want to think about him under attack, but her gut told her that was probably the case. Anyone who loved Lucifer and knew enough to take her out of the loop would no doubt be gunning for the King next.

She turned her eyes up to the devil’s trap. This sucked.

“Don’t suppose you want to make the best of the time we’re here, do you?” Scotius asked, nodding at the floor beside him.

Cecily sat down, smoothing her skirt to lower herself as graciously as she could.

“Don’t suppose you know anyone we can call to get us out of here?”

He shook his head. “No one I’d trust, anyway.”

“Well… I guess we might as well pass the time until Crowley sends someone.”

Because she had to think he would. If he didn’t… then he’d… No. He was going to send someone.

“Tell me about the date you really wanted to take me on,” she suggested.

***

Crowley circled the Alpha Shifter that was the spitting image of himself. “I’m tired of your evasive answers and snarky comments. Tell me everything you know about Purgatory.”

“Love to, mate… but I’m a little tied up right now.” The Shifter offered the demon a smirk.

Another whack to the head with the bat.

The Shifter laughed.

“Oh, you think this is a big joke, do you? That it’s funny?” Crowley leaned down in front of his twin’s face and all but growled. “Do you have any idea of the lengths I will go to to find out how to get to Purgatory?”

The Shifter bit at Crowley, but the King was faster. The bat connected once more with the side of the Shifter’s head.

As Crowley was circling once more, taking a moment to stop behind the Shifter, Castiel appeared. The angel caught sight of the Crowley in chains in the middle of the room and panicked momentarily, head tilting. He looked to the Crowley who was standing - ah, yes… _the_ Crowley - and gave him a questioning squint.

“Just in time for the party, ducky,” Crowley said with some level of enthusiasm, his gaze lingering a bit too long on the angel.

The Shifter noticed and gave him a wink before changing into Castiel. He squinted at Crowley from the chair, echoing the angel’s behaviour, as the demon moved in front of him once more.

Crowley tried not to let his dismay show, but… _fuck_. How was he supposed to torture someone when they looked like his angel?

He kept a straight face, avoiding looking at Castiel - because he knew the angel would be horrified - and walked a bit closer. 

“Aren’t you a pretty little bird?” Crowley said to the Shifter. He could **feel** the angel’s discomfort from across the room. “Now… you gonna be a good little feathery friend and give up the information I want or you are you still feigning stupidity?”

“I don’t know anything about Purgatory, _demon_. I told you.”

It was Crowley’s turn to squint. He wondered if the Shifter actually knew how frequently the angel called him that, or if he was just saying it by chance. Either way… “Wrong answer,” he said, bringing up his hand to connect with the Shifter’s nose, blood dripping almost immediately. 

Castiel flinched as he watched Crowley draw blood with such ease from the Shifter. It normally wouldn’t have bothered him, not really. He’d grown accustomed to observing torture sessions. It was all part of the plan… something that must be done. A means to end. This was war.

But this particular monster looked exactly like Castiel and watching the easy, graceful way Crowley’s fists and instruments of torture connected with what looked like the angel’s face… the way it didn’t seem to affect Crowley in the least… it… it kind of **hurt**. Castiel grew more and more uncomfortable by the second. 

So uncomfortable, in fact, that the angel disappeared, his heart heavy.

Crowley knew Cas was gone and he figured he knew why… there’d be some explaining or an argument - probably both, to be honest - later. The King of Hell’s heart broke a little bit, knowing that Castiel must have noticed the poker face he had on. He must have thought that the demon couldn’t care less about the physical torture he was inflicting on what appeared to be the angel’s twin.

Crowley spun the bat around in the air once, moving a bit closer. “Now that you’ve got your rocks off freaking out the angel, how about we get back down to business, darling?”

The Shifter laughed, turning back into Crowley’s twin.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Crowley grinned. “Now. _Tell me_ about **Purgatory**.” Crowley circled once more, moving to stand in front of the Shifter.

“I told you. I don’t know anything about--” the demon didn’t allow his prisoner to finish the sentence before the bat connected with the Shifter’s head once more.

“Sorry. But your exceptional good looks aren’t gonna buy you any mercy. I suggest you talk. What should we use next? Speculum? Or something more exotic...?” 

***

“We must strike now,” Castiel told Bartholomew. “Summon all the angels who are available. We need the element of surprise.”

“Now?” the other asked. “Do we even have a target?”

“Yes. I know where we’re going. I have been planning this for weeks.” 

It was only a partial lie. He had been planning it for some time, of course, but he’d been holding out on this particular fight until they were either up against the wall or powered by Purgatory. There was no real reason to push ahead with it right now, other than the anger and frustration that bubbled up within him. Castiel felt like he was sitting on God’s own wrath, and if he didn’t do something with this frustration that it would be a waste.

He needed to _smite_. He needed to fight, and know that it was just and holy. He needed…

“As you command,” Bartholomew agreed and vanished.

Cas paced up and down, frustrated. The whole war was taking too long. Everything was taking too long. Too many angels were dying, and though they had the tactical edge every time his troops and Raphael’s clashed… it was death by degrees. And Raphael had a bounty on his head so high that even Crowley had been impressed.

It did not take long for the troops to rally around, and everyone listened patiently as he explained the battle plan. Everyone listened patiently, and he wondered why no one saw through him. Why no one could see _he’d been with the demon moments before_. Why none of them questioned his leadership. 

But no, they thought he had only their best interests at heart. They thought he was doing this purely because it was the right thing to do.

Maybe he’d wind up dead one of these times. It would almost serve him right.

His intelligence was right, though. When they materialised it was right in the middle of a small garrison. Castiel recognised one of Raphael’s right-hand men: Nicholas. 

The seraph dispatched two angels en-route to him, taking a nick to the temple that healed instantly. Beside him, he heard as someone on his side - he didn’t even know their name - died noisily. It was turning into a blood-bath, but they were winning. Maybe it was desperation, or maybe it was surprise.

“ _Castiel… we need you. It’s important…_ ”

He heard the prayer, right as he ducked under a burly angel’s arm.

“ _Cas, we found something…_ ”

On and on Sam went, like he had so many times before. The seraph shoved his leg out and pushed the legs out from under Ruth.

“ _...the Ark of the Covenant…_ ”

The Ark?

Castiel barked out over the radio, **Rachel: take control, I must go…**


	15. Chapter 15

“Cas, can you give us a minute?” Dean asked, and Castiel didn’t even reply. He flew away as fast as he could - relieved to finally have an excuse to.

“Crowley. We need to talk.”

The angel found him in the study, sitting at his desk, doing whatever it was he did when he wasn’t torturing monsters for information.

“Is this when you give me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’?”

“Is-- what? No. Crowley, the Winchesters are looking for you. They intend to attack you. They insisted I assist them, and they asked me to perform a tracking spell.”

“Oh, they did, did they?”

“I lied and said it did not work, but they are now with their grandfather, who they will attempt to convince to assist them.”

“Looks like I will have to be ready for them, then.”

“You should relocate. It will only be a matter of time before they find you. I cannot conceal you forever.”

“Let them come, Cas. If they’re so intent on taking me down, then they will find me one way or another. This place is defensible, I have plenty of Hellhounds, and the only people who know about it are loyal to me.” Although… he tilted his head at the angel. “Or… so I thought.”

“Crowley! I came to tell you!”

“A little bit closing the stable door after the horse has bolted, don’t you think?”

“You knew the day would come when they no longer wished to work for you. You should be grateful I have come in advance. You can relocate your center of operations, you can take the Alphas with you, and you can survive.”

But the demon shook his head. “Let them come,” he repeated. “This partnership with them was never going to be permanent. If the whole Moose soul thing isn’t pressure enough… then let them throw their lives away. Samuel will still do anything I ask of him, and we’ve got enough leads now that we can rely on him rather than the younger generation. He’s more easily controlled.”

“They are my _friends_ , Crowley!”

“Oh? So you trust them? Trust them enough to tell them what we’re doing? Maybe - you know - ask for their help in your heavenly war? Ask for their support? No. Wait. It’s _me_ you had to ask for help from. _Me_ , Cas, not them.”

“That’s not the--”

“Not the point? Forgive me, but what _is_ the point? Isn’t the point: winning? Isn’t it: saving the world? Isn’t it all those things you need power for? Power they can’t help you get? Who was there when Raphael was about to kick your arse, Cas? Because I don’t remember you saying ‘Help me, Dean’.”

“I did not ask for your assistance, _demon_. You **offered it**.”

“Even better! I offered it of my own accord! I’ve done nothing but help you, and those ungrateful brats have caught us monsters, but done nothing but bitch and complain. Well, Cas, if you want to win a war you have to _fight one_.”

“You will not harm them.”

“If they come on my turf, on my territory? Then they are fair game. Keep them off my back and maybe I won’t kill them. But the minute they come into my compound, I’m going to send my biggest, nastiest ‘hounds on them. I’m going to send all the ghouls, demons, wights… anything I feel like.”

“ _You will not harm them._ ”

“Then you better keep them away from me, hadn’t you? I’ve had it being spoken down to by a pair of knife-wielding holier-than-thou serial-killing maniacs, Cas. I’m working on this for **us**. And - unlike you - I’m prepared to make the tough decisions, the hard choices, in order to keep our partnership working.”

“And when they kill you, because you are so stubborn? When they cut off your head, or run you through with a knife, and Hell is chaos, and Heaven worse? When the whole world is destroyed because of your _pride_...”

“Pride! Pride?! I gave that bumbling oaf back his soul _and his legs_ because you asked me to! I even let them feel like they got one over on me! How fucking dare you talk to me of **pride** , when it’s your ridiculous need to keep your feathers clean of the stench of means to an end… You know what? You disgust me.”

“ _I_ disgust _you_?”

“You’re all too happy to let me get my hands dirty on your behalf, but then you look down on me for it. The number of times I’ve had to wade in to--”

“ _Enough_.”

“No. No, I don’t think it _is_ enough. Ever since Dean got back into the game, you’ve been slacking, Cas. Barely here. Phoning it in. Refusing to pull your weight. So now I’m asking for something, for once. I’m asking you to _keep those monsters away from me, or I will be forced to defend myself_.”

“You are being childish, Crowley.”

“Me? I’m being childish?”

“That is what I said. You know they are useful.”

“Not if they won’t bloody work for me, they aren’t!”

“Then they work for me.”

“Oh, so you’re going to ask for the Alphas, next? You think that will go down well?”

“I will…”

“You will what, exactly?”

“...be back.”

And Castiel flew back to the Winchesters, because he could hear Dean calling him.

***

Castiel decided there was nothing he could do to assist in tracking down Crowley without giving his game away. He’d ‘tried’ his best efforts and failed, and to suddenly succeed would look suspicious. That and he also didn’t really want the Winchesters to find him. It seemed doomed to a face-off and he was not prepared for that. Partially because he still couldn’t make his mind up who he would - actually - want to win.

And perhaps the longer he left it before they went to pay him a visit, Crowley might have time to cool down and realise the error of his ways. His attitude had been atrocious. Didn’t he realise that the two brothers were unstoppable? They had faced down Michael and Lucifer. They had _won_. If they decided they wanted Crowley dead, then they would not stop until he was dead.

Even now, Cas didn’t want that. And it wasn’t just that without him he had no chance to find and open the gate to Purgatory… no. It wasn’t simply that without him, as the demon had so happily pointed out, his little insurrection would ultimately fail… it was everything else.

For a while, he had forgotten they were supposed to be enemies. He wasn’t sure when it had happened. It hadn’t even happened in their frantic, animal encounters. Those had been physically very stimulating and satisfying, yes, but… it was the other times. Times he had been able to talk through his worries. Times that Crowley had seen he was worried and offered him support. Times they had simply been… friends? More than friends. Lovers. 

It was stupid to think in those terms, he told himself. Crowley was a demon and a demon enjoyed the sins of the flesh. A demon liked to chase physical stimulus. It was… biological.

...it hadn’t felt like it, at times. There had been times when he’d caught a smile so fond on Crowley’s face that it had made something in his chest ache with painful pleasure. There had been times when Crowley had kissed him all over and uttered quiet words of praise and caring. There had been times when they had simply lain together - comfortable in each other’s company - and Castiel had struggled not to spill every last thought and worry and fear and want that had rattled around in his head.

Castiel wanted something the demon could not offer, of course. Castiel wanted… a mate. A partner. Another. A _love_.

But Crowley was a demon. He had no soul. He had no morals, no ethics, no decency left in him. He was selfish and greedy and cruel and bitter and twisted and evil. He was not… worthy...

All those soft moments were just… lies. They had to be. Crowley was a demon, and he was not capable of being what Castiel needed, what he craved. Although… how could Castiel claim he was all that different? Here he was lying to his charges. Here he was staging a bloody war. Here he was condoning - no - _helping_ in the torture of monsters so they could steal a vast power-house of souls. How was he any better than the demon? How could he still claim to be an angel?

He turned the television with a blink and stared at it. It seemed to just be starting, judging by the narrative. He let it wash over him as he thought... though the dialogue was stilted and jarring. It did not seem to have a high production value. Or was he missing the point, somehow?

And then there was the female demon. He had seen the way Crowley’s eyes had wandered over her meatsuit. He’d seen the way he encouraged her to stand close. He used that voice that Castiel recognised as an invitation for sexualised behaviour - more so than his usual voice - and he’d felt… rage. Jealous, terrible rage. But why? Castiel had simply been using the demon for bodily release, and… and other things… but he’d never once declared his intention, or staked his claim. He’d never asked for it to be just them, because he wasn’t sure what ‘them’ was. It hurt. 

It hurt to think he wanted only Crowley, and Crowley just saw it as another perk of their arrangement… maybe another way to keep him under control. Sam had his soul over his head, Samuel had Mary… Castiel? Castiel had the quiet words that were just short of love-letters, had the kisses on his skin and the fingers in his hair and the shoulder to cry on in sadness, or bite in ecstasy. Had the ear ready to listen to his confessions, and the tongue to stroke platitudes back in return.

The babysitter did not seem interested in the pizza delivery, which made Cas wonder why she had ordered it. She had not seemed surprised by the ring to the doorbell, so it couldn’t be a mistake. Instead they were talking about ‘boxes’ and ‘dough balls’ and ‘hot sauce’. 

Cas squinted at the television in confusion. They seemed to be making sexual overtures at one another, and they did not know one another previously. Was that normal? He had never really paid much attention to courtship patterns before, and he had never had a reason to, either. But here these two seemed both to know what the other wanted, and it progressed from a simple business transaction towards a physical relationship. He could not help but note the parallels. 

They both seemed happy with the way things were moving, if their smiles and moans were anything to go by. They seemed happier now they were touching. He stared at the program, willing it to give him some clue. Was it, perhaps, that he was male? Or his vessel was? Did Crowley still have some lingering need for a female form? If Crowley’s attraction to the female demon was purely physical, then it was something Castiel would not be able to provide. He could potentially find a female vessel, but it would not be easy for him. 

And would that even work? Would Crowley be satisfied enough, then? He watched as the pizza man applied physical force to the babysitter, who simply moaned happily and offered her rear for more. Would it be different entering a woman, than a man? Was Crowley upset that he usually was the one being entered? He had never expressed any displeasure, and Cas had allowed him to take the lead on occasion. Or did he want this physical punishment, like the babysitter? Did he crave giving, or receiving? _What did the demon want_?

And why did it matter? Why did giving Crowley what he wanted matter? It was - it was doomed. It was. They could never truly fall in love. No matter how much Cas might want it, he was sure that it couldn’t happen. 

If he admitted this - if he told Crowley - he was sure the demon would laugh in his face.

“You thought _what_ , kitten? No… oh no. You’re good enough in the sack, but that’s all this is. Sorry, sweetheart, I never meant to lead you on. It was fun while it lasted. Hope I didn’t break your heart too badly.”

His hands balled into fists. The pizza man was making the babysitter squirm with pleasure, and she was vociferous in her approval. All Cas could think about was Crowley. Crowley bent over and squirming. Crowley calling out his name and begging for more, for harder, for faster. He blinked away the image of the demon laughing over his shoulder, and his heart ached.

He let none of it show. Not one single trace. 

He had to speak, to stop the endless, demonic laughter on the inside of his head as Crowley mocked his broken heart. 

“If the pizza man truly loves the babysitter, why does he keep slapping her rear? Perhaps she’s done something wrong.”

He had done plenty wrong. He deserved more than the playful love-swats the pizza man was giving. Maybe if he asked for them, Crowley would…

No.

“You’re watching porn?” Dean asked. “Why?”

“It was there.”

And it answered no questions whatsoever.


	16. Chapter 16

Castiel was panicked. That seemed to be a theme for him these days. The Winchesters and the Campbells were going to work with Meg… a demon… a demon who hated Crowley, who wanted to see him fail… 

This was bad. This was so very, very bad. Castiel had zoned out while watching Dean gather his weapons together. Dean had noticed and Cas managed to play it off by talking about Sam’s soul and how it might not be a good idea to put it back, which was a real concern of his, it really was. 

(Castiel had seen into the Cage, and it had not been pretty. He had seen the archangels at their worst, and he knew he would stand no chance against them if he went in a second time. Sam’s soul was out of his reach, and it was all his fault…)

But truly his mind was focused on Crowley. He was still thinking about Crowley’s need for a female vessel - the demon Cecily - whatever was going on there… and here was Meg, looking at him the way Cecily looked at Crowley - for whatever reason, he wasn’t quite sure. He just pressed his lips into a thin line and squinted at her, trying to stay out of the way. He let his angel blade fall out of his sleeve a bit to examine it as he sat in a chair by himself. 

He needed to warn Crowley, but how? He supposed he’d be able to blip to him soon enough… Making a phone call would be too obvious: then of course everyone would need to know who he was talking to and he doubted ‘the King of Hell’ would go over well at this point. He frowned, securing the blade back up in his sleeve carefully and waited for Dean to give the word to go.

***

“Meet me at the side door,” he told them, and vanished.

Inside, Crowley was busy stroking one of the Hellhounds. Cas shuddered because the beasts were horrible and they growled whenever he saw them. The hairs on the back of his vessel’s neck rose, and the Grace inside of him ached to burn the fire and death from them.

“The Winchesters are here.”

“Funny, that. You’d think I didn’t already know.”

“I came as soon as I was able to, Crowley. They were given the location by--”

“Samuel, I know.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“I told you, Cas. This is it. This means war. If they’re not going to obey, then they need to be…” and the demon’s fingers reached behind an ear to scratch at the hound, “...put down.”

“This is ridiculous, Crowley.”

“It is, isn’t it? Should have done it months ago. Should have stuck to Sam Squared, not let the Righteous Dick get involved, too.”

“You must evacuate.”

“Too late for that, buddy boy. We’re staying put. It’s going to be one Hell of a fight, but there’s only two possible outcomes here. And I’m the one with the Hellhounds.”

“Meg is with them.”

“And?”

Cas could hear the boys were getting close. 

“This is not over,” he insisted, and vanished back to see them.

***

Sam and Dean were pouring a line of salt at the door to guard against the Hellhounds and whatever else Crowley had coming for them… at least temporarily. Castiel was distracted. Why wouldn’t Crowley listen to him? Why couldn’t he just zap out of there, hide somewhere. Why did this have to escalate to ‘one Hell of a fight?’

Meg threw her head back, trying to smoke out. Castiel caught her out of the corner of his eye. 

“A spell, I think, from Crowley. Within these walls, you’re locked inside your body,” he offered as an explanation. That sounded good, right? He hoped it didn’t give away the fact that he knew so much more than he was saying. 

No one seemed to question him, as the three of them continued to bicker about stupid things as the ‘hounds got closer. This was _dangerous_ and it seemed to be a bit excessive of Crowley to lock her in. It would mean he was also unable to flee, most likely. It meant that Crowley intended--

Castiel’s thoughts were interrupted by Meg’s lips on his, her hand on the back of his neck. Castiel looked at her confused as she broke the kiss. All he could think of was Cecily kissing Crowley like that - the way _he_ kissed Crowley. What was all the fuss about? Perhaps he missed something? He turned Meg’s back against the wall and kissed her with all the passion he could muster for someone who wasn’t his King.

He pulled away from the kiss. Meg looked... _pleased?_... as the babysitter had in that film he had watched, but he felt… nothing? His fingers lingered on her neck for a moment before he pulled them away.

“What was **that**?” Meg asked, her face flushed.

_Oh, shit_. Castiel - being so preoccupied with thoughts of Crowley and Cecily - had completely forgotten there were others present. And now he had to explain himself. Shit.

“I learned that from the pizza man.” A bald-faced lie. One he hoped everyone would just believe and never ask any more questions about it.

“Well, A-Plus for you. I feel so… _clean_...” Meg drawled. 

Castiel hoped the looked of sheer **panic** on his face at being found out was not apparent. 

“Okay, gotta go,” she sighed, holding up the blade that had been hidden in Castiel’s sleeve just before all this nonsense started. How could he have let himself get so distracted? He hadn’t even noticed her taking it! 

There was no time to argue, not anymore. Meg was their best chance at getting away from the Hellhounds and to Crowley - which Castiel still wasn’t sure was somewhere he wanted to be, at least not in this particular situation - but he supposed it was better than all of them dying in these hallways.

The trio made their way carefully through the twisting halls and then up the next stairwell they came to.

“Can’t see jack,” Dean complained.

Cas was about to say something, when there was a sudden smell of _blood_ and a flash of _white_ and the angel-banishing spell sent him far, far away.


	17. Chapter 17

Crowley was not impressed to hear the alarm. The demons should all have been dog food by now, and the Winchesters were both slated for something a bit more sentient, but lunch all the same. The alarm meant something had gone wrong, and he didn’t like it when his plans went wrong. Reluctantly he went in search of the sound - you just could _not_ trust minions these days - and tilted his head in surprise at Dean.

“You should be Ghoul-scat by now,” he complained.

He was caught off-guard by Sam, a sudden blow to the back of his head sending him flying. It bloody hurt, but worse than that? He was sent sprawling. “Really necessary?” he spat. “I just had this dry-cleaned!”

Still no response, the strong-but-silent treatment from the two tough guys with the knife, as he pushed himself up, brushing himself down and… their eyes went up, and so did his. Of course. A Devil’s Trap on the ceiling. Bloody Squirrel probably had to sit on the Moose’s shoulders, or use a broom handle to paint it up there. 

“So… to what do I owe the reach-around?”

Again no answer, but the two plaid-clad buffoons parted around the door, and he heard the unmistakable stamp of lighter feet. Of _course_.

Meg. He felt his face fall. She was supposed to be dead.

“Crowley,” she beamed at him, and he wanted to wipe the smug little smile right off her ugly meatsuit.

“Whore,” he smiled sarcastically.

“Okay, you know what?” Meg scowled, curling her fingers into her own hand, making Crowley bend over, coughing up blood. Who the Hell did this _stupid_ bitch think she was? “The best torturers never get their hands dirty,” he heard her say to the Wonder Twins. 

What did she know of torture, anyway? She might have worked under Alastair, but who had been working over the Alphas for the best part of a year? They were more complicated than simple _humans_ , and most demons. 

“Sam wants a word with you.” 

Crowley coughed once more, straightening himself up. It was pathetic of her, but he wasn’t about to bait her into more. Oh no. He wanted to let her think she had him under control. “What can I do for you, Sam?”

“You know damn well. I want my soul back,” Sam spat. 

Crowley smirked. So they were going with the old soul conversation again… lovely.

“And here I thought you just grew some balls, Sam,” Meg teased.

“Well?” Sam asked, looking back at the King of Hell.

“No.”

“Meg,” Dean said, commanding the bitch to try again to torture Crowley. 

The King made a good show of it, dropping to his knees, doubling over, excessive coughing, the whole nine yards. It was demeaning, but no worse than pretending they’d got him by the short and curlies with his ‘bones’.

“I said ‘can’t’,” Crowley said, glancing up at them. “I meant ‘can’t’, you mop-headed lumberjack. I was lucky to get this much of you out. Going back in there for the sloppy bits? No way. I’m **good** , but those two in there? Forget it.”

Castiel watched, invisible of course, as the four of them argued back and forth. He was holding a bag of bones, debating on when the right time to come in was. Before he knew it, Meg was on the ground, the Devil’s Trap broken, and his charges were flung across the room, pinned with Crowley’s magic against the walls. It all happened so fast that he was too shocked to react for a moment, but the fear that Crowley might… that he might… and the Winchesters...

“That’s better. You don’t know torture, you little insect,” Crowley said, holding the knife up to Meg.

Castiel made himself visible at once. This was certainly in danger of going too far.

“Leave them alone,” the seraph insisted.

“Castiel, haven’t seen you all season. You the cavalry now?” 

“Put the knife down.” _Please, Crowley._

“You that bossy in Heaven? Hear you’re losing out to Raphael. The whole affair makes Vietnam look like a roller derby,” the King laughed, eyeing the angel. “Hey, what’s in the gift bag?”

The angel squinted at him, not liking how he made him sound somehow… weak… in front of the humans. In front of his _friends_. He did not like admitting how difficult things were getting, and having Crowley of all people point it out...

Castiel pulled a skull with his right hand from the bag. “You are.”

Crowley was about to say something, he could tell. Something there in his eyes, on his lips. His gaze darted from the bag, to the skull, to Castiel’s face.

What was it, after all? Was it Fergus? Were they bones faked as his? Or had the angel used the name he’d given in private, the name he’d only ever spoken in one ear? The bag was in the angel’s left hand, and he remembered the fake blade he’d pointed out… but the skull was in his right hand. Which was it? Was it fake, or was it real? Was he intending on making Crowley back down and lose face again, or was he going to demand he play yet another role, or… or…

“Not possible.”

“You didn’t hide your bones as well as you should have.”

No, Crowley thought, not if I’m standing here not sure if you’re about to murder me or not. I thought my name was safe with you, I thought you could call it out in private to me and it would be our little secret, our little truth.

But it might well be the death of him, Crowley realised. He’d trusted Castiel, and now? Now he was not sure he’d been wise.

The demon tucked the knife under one arm - standing down his attack - and he clapped his hands together, poker face firmly in place as he watched the angel put the skull back into the bag like a reverse magician. “Cookie for you.”

Castiel dropped the bones to the floor with a loud clatter. “Can you restore Sam’s soul or not?”

Crowley snapped, dropping the Winchesters from the wall. “If I could help out in any other–-”

“Answer him!” Dean barked.

Through gritted teeth the demon admitted: “I can’t.”

Then there was no more room for second-guessing, no more chance to regret putting the anti-escape magic all over the complex. He watched as Castiel’s hand waved at the human remains, the fire burning hot and yellow and too-fast.

With a barely-there cry of pain, the demon King of Hell burned to ash and dust on the floor.

Meg was already gone.

“Well, she’s smart, I’ll give her that. I was gonna kill her, too.” Dean said, looking back to Castiel. “’Course, I’d have given you an hour with her first.”

“Why would I want that?” the angel asked, confused… why _would_ he want that? Though he knew what they meant, he didn’t want them to realise he did. The dumber he played, the better.

But it wasn’t Meg he wanted to see. And the sooner he could leave, the better.

***

“Thanks, Cas. Hadn’t it been for you-–” Dean shook his head, leaning onto the Impala.

The angel looked between the Winchesters. “Crowley was right…” he admitted, reluctant to say as much. Wouldn’t they tell? Couldn’t they see how upset he was? “It’s not... going well for me... upstairs.”

“If there’s anything we can do…” Dean offered.

“There isn’t,” Castiel said, perhaps too quickly. “I _wish_ circumstances were different. Much of the time I’d rather be here.” The angel hoped his charges wouldn’t see he meant _here_ was with Crowley… he couldn’t even look at Dean… not right now. He had so many different emotions swelling up inside of him. 

It had… gone better than it could have done, but Castiel couldn’t help but feel that things would have been better if Crowley had listened to him, instead of pushing his hand like that.

“Look, Cas, we know you got a steaming pile on your plate. There’s no need for apologies. We’re your friends.”

Friends… right. Of course they were. Now that it suited them. Now that they’d used him as a weapon. After _their_ problems were handled, all of a sudden they offered to listen to _his_ problems. All it took was the King of Hell telling them he was struggling for them to care? 

“Listen, Sam, we’ll find another way,” Castiel said, attempting to be reassuring. He might still feel annoyed with them, but he did… he _did_ still feel responsible for them, and he couldn’t bring himself to hate them enough. How could he feel so many conflicting things about so many different people?

“You really wanna help? Prison full of monsters. Can’t just leave ’em, can’t let ’em go,” Sam said flatly. The tone implying it was time for the angel to go.

“I understand.” And with that, Castiel left the Winchesters and headed straight for Crowley.


	18. Chapter 18

“ **WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?** ” Crowley snarled at him, the minute he arrived in Hell. “Bones, Cas? BONES?”

“I believe you were the one with the plan to fake my death at one point, Crowley. It seemed a suitable cover story.”

“So you just thought you’d put the fucking _wind_ up me by not letting me know whether you were about to _murder me_?”

“Was this not the plan, Crowley?” 

“The **plan** was for me to **kill those meddling morons** , Castiel. I thought I made that patently clear. I thought by sending you away I made my intentions plain. So you wouldn’t have to sit by and cry when the Chuckle Brothers were finally put down.”

The angel was furious. “You _cannot_ kill them. It’s unnecessary. No matter what you say about them, they are my charges, and I am still bound to **protect** them at all costs.”

“Do you want to win, or do you want to lose, Castiel? That’s what it boils down to.”

Castiel’s fists were clenched, his jaw set. “I want. To win. But I still need to protect Sam and Dean. If we can succeed in finding Purgatory and destroy Raphael in the process while saving the Winchesters from your unnecessary murder, don’t you think that counts as a _win_ , Crowley?”

“ _They_ came to _my_ house, Cas. Did you miss that part? I’ve let them run around the country - I’ve even given them bones to gnaw on, to keep them occupied. And how do I get repaid? _By them coming to kill me_. How are you on their side in this? Do you really hero-worship that alcoholic, co-dependent fool so much you don’t see he’s using you? Did you see them coming to you with help? No? That’s right. _They don’t give a damn about you_.”

“And you do? Hellhounds? Ghouls? What the Hell, Crowley? You sent all these things after us to keep us away. And I tried to warn you, several times. You decided not to do anything but wait for them to get to you, and I’m supposed to pity you? Just because you hate the Winchesters doesn’t mean I do,” Castiel spat.

“And where were you when Meg had me in a Demon Trap, spitting blood? Were you going to let them make me bleed a bit first, or were you just going to stay out of sight and let them finish me off so you could take all the souls for your--” 

Crowley stopped, head turning, surprised to hear his ringtone. “Cecily?” That was the sound he’d assigned to her. She never called unless it was urgent, so he reached for his phone.

Castiel was getting angrier with every word the demon said. No, of course he didn’t want Crowley to be ‘finished off,’ and he knew Crowley would be fine up against Meg’s so-called torture. Crowley was tough, he was the King, he could handle a little demon like her just fine. He was about to cut the demon off mid-sentence from his ridiculous accusations when Crowley’s phone rang. _Cecily_. 

The angel squinted and tilted his head to the side as if to say _fucking really, Crowley?_

“Darling… darling I’m fine,” Crowley told her. “Slight mishap but it’s all sorted now. No. She got away. Yes, I will be. Where are you? I’ll come and get you at once…”

Castiel listened, his lips pulling up into a snarl. _Darling?_. What did he find so appealing about the female demon, anyway? Kissing Meg hadn’t been all that great… it was nothing - absolutely **nothing** \- compared to the way he felt when he and Crowley kissed…

Perhaps it was one-sided? Maybe Crowley didn’t think anything more of the angel than he did of… well… anyone. Castiel waited for Crowley to get off the phone, not wanting to interrupt - and not wanting to just blurt out the words that were at the forefront of his mind right now, either.

“This? Is not over,” Crowley insisted. “You wait _right here_ , because I am _not_ done with you, and thanks to your meddling I am _stuck in Hell_.”

Crowley didn’t wait for an answer, vanishing to release Cecily and Scotius. He stayed with them for the shortest time possible, reassuring her that he was, in fact, fine and she needn’t have worried and that Hell was safe and so were they, now… before he jumped back to the angel.

Castiel fumed, his vessel’s chest rising and falling hard as Crowley was gone for what seemed like ages. He didn’t move from the spot Crowley had left him in. When the demon finally returned, Castiel squinted, looking at the King’s cheek. There was a mark on his cheeks that looked like… lips? 

“What’s on your cheek?” he asked, hoping he was wrong.

“What’s…?” Crowley frowned, confused. On his face? His meatsuit should be fine after the faked death-scene, but… oh. His hand lifted to his cheek, and he rubbed, bringing away hot pink fingers. “...Cecily.”

The angel’s lips pressed together before he blurted out, “I kissed Meg, Crowley. Up against a wall.” _Just like we do_.

“You did… what?” His voice was much calmer than he felt.

“To be fair, she kissed me first. I believe she did it to get my angel blade. I don’t understand _why_...” he trailed off. Now was not the time to freeze up, but that’s exactly what the angel did. He wanted to say he didn’t understand why Crowley was doing things with Cecily that he did with Castiel, why Cas didn’t feel the same things when he kissed Meg… so he just stood there, staring at Crowley. 

“She tried to kill me, Cas.” He wasn’t sure why that was the first thing he said. It wasn’t even as if it was the worst part of it. Oh no. It wasn’t as if him _kissing anyone else would have been better_ , but somehow his mind got stuck on the fact that Castiel had kissed a **Lucifer Loyalist**. “And there I am, trying to keep our deal going, and you - you just - what? Stop and let the enemy ravage you? And let them castrate you, too? My. Probably good that I set my dogs on that bitch, then, or maybe you’d be making little baby angel-demons with her? Is that your bag? Do you get _off_ on damnation?”

“Why is it okay for you to kiss other demons but not for me to?” It was the best he could come up with. He hadn’t taken into account anything Crowley was saying when Meg caught him off guard with the kiss. Besides… he hadn’t enjoyed it, he didn’t plan on kissing her more. He squinted at the King of Hell because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. The great strategist was at a loss for a strategy. This was undefined territory. Somewhere an angel shouldn’t even be treading, to be honest. Yet, here he was…. arguing about kissing demons with the King of Hell.

“What in the blue blazes are you bleating on about, angel? What demons? What kissing? She planted one on my cheek because she thought that _whore_ Meg and those _dipshit_ brothers had murdered me, and she was glad to see me alive and there to _rescue her_. At what point was I kissing anyone but - but you?!”

“--But… you and Cecily. I saw you… in your office. You were discussing monsters. She - you…” _Fuck._ “Perhaps I was wrong, then…” Castiel looked down at the floor. This was a huge mistake. Everything. Meg, this conversation, all of it. He should’ve vanished when he first thought about it like he usually did.

“You thought-- you thought me and Cecily were--?” Crowley blinked at him in confusion. Really? She was pretty, and all, and yes he knew she had a rather hefty crush on him, but really… his flirtation with her had barely been an inch above his normal behaviour. He laughed, but it was a sort of broken laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s smart and she’s pretty and I’m neither dumb nor blind, Cas, but…” He shook his head. “You got me all wrong.”

“The way the two of you looked at each other… and… I’m no expert, but I thought it was… a mutual feeling between the two of you. I just thought…”

“Cas… you can admire goods and not touch, you know? I’m perfectly aware she has - ah - an interest in me, but as for reciprocating it?” He narrowed his eyes, assessingly. “Is this your very, _very_ inept attempt at making me jealous enough to either break up with you or go steady? Because let me tell you, your interpersonal skills need some _significant work_.”

“--I…” he squinted. He was… nervous? Confused? Slightly horrified? All of the above? They had never discussed _them_ and this seemed like a strange time to have the conversation. “What are we even doing, Crowley?” 

The demon snorted. “I was under the impression we were enjoying a mutually satisfying relationship, Cas, but you might have another take on matters.” Head to one side. “What did you think we were doing? Did you think we were just signing a new deal every night? Even _I_ don’t need that.”

Cas shook his head. “I knew it wasn’t deals, Crowley… I’m not very good at this,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t… why was it different… kissing Meg?”

“...how did it feel with Meg?” Crowley asked, curious.

Castiel shrugged. “...boring, if I’m being honest. Not like…” he tilted his head slightly, looking at Crowley.

“Not like what?”

“Not like when I kiss you.”

The demon started pacing closer, eliminating the distance between them. His smile was wavering a line between smug and fucking terrified, but usually winding up somewhere closer to smug. “How does it feel when you kiss me?” he asked, voice suddenly… low. He was close enough to touch, now. Close enough that he could lean in, if he wanted to… leaning in so his ear was by the angel’s lips. “Tell me.”

The angel let his lips brush over the demon’s ear. Yeah, this was literally _nothing_ like being next to Meg. “Like I can’t breathe, but in a good way…” he said, his voice quietly growling. “Like I want to spend the rest of eternity tangled around you, like I never want your lips to leave mine... unless, of course, they’re somewhere else on my body… anywhere… as long as they’re there.” Castiel’s voice was shaky; this was terrifying, telling Crowley these things. If he hadn’t been so lost in the demon’s close proximity, in the feel of his skin against the angel’s lips, he might not have admitted it so readily. He held his breath waiting to hear what Crowley had to say.

Crowley couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t get air into his body. The words fell into his stomach like lead, making him reel. Everything was loud and silent all at once. He couldn’t actually believe Cas was saying those things? He struggled to swallow past a tongue that felt ten times too big, over air that was hotter than any part of Hell. Did he… did he really mean those things? Did the angel really feel like that about him? Could it - actually - be true?

He didn’t have any words to say in return, so instead he grabbed hold of Cas’ face and slammed his mouth over the angel’s, to stop him taking any of it back. He forced his tongue into Cas’ mouth, shoving him bodily back into the wall with a _crack_ as he tried his best to make Cas feel all those things he said he did when they kissed. Fucking _Meg_. He was going to show Cas what _real_ kisses felt like, if he had to choke him in the process.

Castiel was a bit shocked by the aggressive kisses and being pushed against the wall, but _damn_ it was so much better than Meg. Cas highly doubted that anyone else would be capable of making him feel the way he did with Crowley. The angel’s hand were in the demon’s hair, pulling him close. _This _feeling… this feeling was so great. He never wanted it to end.__

__“I can’t believe you thought I was fucking Cecily,” Crowley growled against Castiel’s throat, making the angel groan loudly._ _

__Cas flipped them around so Crowley was against the wall. He attacked the demon with kisses all over his neck, licking and biting at his throat, making Crowley squirm, all the while grinning like a fool. He pressed his lips against the demon’s again, slowly this time, a hand resting on the side of Crowley’s neck._ _

__“How do my kisses make you feel, Crowley?” Castiel asked, lips still pressed lightly against the King’s._ _

__The demon almost laughed at the question, feeling the words spoken into his lips. How did Castiel’s kisses make him feel? Did he really have to ask? Here he was, pressed into the wall, one hand tugging at that thick, black mane of hair, the other framing the angel’s face to make sure he didn’t go anywhere. His heart was pounding so hard in his meatsuit he thought the _Winchesters_ would hear it. He felt light-headed and like he was on the edge of finding something perfect and beautiful and… none of these words came out, because he was almost hysterical._ _

__“How do you make me feel?” he echoed, swallowing hard and fighting for control of his own body. “You make me feel like there’s sin and salvation both in your kisses, Cas. You make me feel like maybe there’s something worth seeing in me… you make me feel like I should throw myself to my knees and beg for your mercy, just to keep your eyes on me, to keep your fingers on my skin… you make me feel like offering you all the souls you could ever want, angel, like I should find a way to charge into battle on your behalf and strike down Raphael, if I only could… Cas, I…”_ _

__His tongue faltered, and the terror of disclosure was overwhelming again. He didn’t want to talk any more. He just wanted Cas to _know_ , because he didn’t know what words he _could_ use to make the angel comprehend. “Please, Cas. Please just… _don’t stop kissing me_?” he begged._ _

__Castiel had things all wrong - what a surprise. To hear Crowley saying those things… did the demon _actually_ mean them? The way he meant them? There wasn’t much more time to think because Crowley was begging for kisses and who the Hell was Cas to deny them. He shoved his tongue into Crowley’s mouth, hands pulling the demon closer by the back of his head. Why couldn’t he get Crowley close enough right now? Cas made a small motion with his hand and the two of them were on the bed. _ _

__It was the same bed they always used, but it felt different this time. In a good way, of course. Castiel was on top of the demon, barely holding his weight off of him. His hands were trying to touch more of Crowley, but there were so many _clothes_ in the way. Another wave of his hand and there were no longer clothes to worry about. _ _

__Cas smiled against Crowley’s lips. “That’s better.”_ _

__The demon dragged fingernails over the angel’s shoulders, raking pink lines as he marked him out as _his_. All his. No one else’s. Didn’t Cas know that was what Crowley wanted? Here, on his back, wrapped around him and his heart in his throat… how didn’t - hadn’t - Cas realised that anything he wanted, he only had to ask? _ _

__It was insane, but Crowley knew he’d not be able to deny him anything. Had known for quite some time. He just wanted to keep the angel happy, to keep him near, to… _anything_. _ _

__“Make a deal with me,” he asked, head to one side, between kisses and growls and the slow, maddening rut of body against body. “Make one more deal with me, Cas - angel - and I’ll swear with every inch of me. _Every_ inch of me.”_ _

__Castiel bit at the demon’s neck the moment he turned his head to the side, pulling away to admire the red mark he left. _Mine._ He smiled, placing a soft kiss over it. _ _

__“What’s the deal?” the angel asked, slightly confused… didn’t Crowley say earlier that having sex was not the same as sealing deals all the time? If he wanted to just have sex with him, he could, right? Not that it mattered, Cas would do whatever Crowley wanted him to. Deal or not._ _

__Holy Hell, but Crowley couldn’t focus when the angel bit him. He hissed in pleasure, trying to get him to do it again, holding his head in place furiously. The sharp sting of pain just went straight to his already-hard dick like a gunshot._ _

__“ _This_ ,” Crowley insisted. “This is the deal.”_ _

__Cas was confused… “Sex?”_ _

__“... _this_ ,” Crowley repeated, in the vague hopes that it would make sense if he just. Kept. Saying. It. This being the fingers that grabbed at the angel’s ass, pulling him in tight as the demon writhed under him like a bloody wanton. This being the way he rubbed his cheek over the angel’s stubble, scratching his face raw and pink. This being _them_. Angel and demon. Wanting one another. Why wasn’t it clear enough? Did he really want to reduce him to begging?_ _

__Castiel was trying to focus, maybe he missed something? Distracted by the demon’s touches? “Crowley… I… I’m not sure I understand what you mean…” he admitted, moving to kiss the King once more in an attempt to hide his embarrassment._ _

__Blasted angel! Why was this so difficult a concept for him to understand? It was what he wanted, right? He did want Crowley, the way Crowley wanted him? Wasn’t that what he’d said?_ _

__He buried his head in the crook of the angel’s neck, fingers finding nerves and pressing down hard. “ _This_ ,” he whispered again. “You. Me. **Us** , Cas. All we have to do is sign on it.”_ _

__A smile spread across the angel’s face. “ _Us_ ,” he said kissing the side of Crowley’s head. “I like that. Yes… **us**. I suppose we should get to signing, then?” he nudged the demon’s face with his nose. _ _

__“Castiel, if you do not - and I mean this in all seriousness - if you do not _fuck me through the mattress_ in the next five minutes I might well go up to Heaven myself and get Raphael to come down here and kick your arse. Is that clear enough?”_ _

__The angel grinned, moving a hand down to shove two fingers into the demon - Grace-slicked, of course - pumping hard and fast. He didn’t wait long before repositioning himself on the bed, pulling legs into place, to shove his cock into Crowley in one sure, knowing thrust._ _

__“Is this better, your Majesty?” Cas smirked._ _

__Oh god was it ever. Crowley had his legs wrapped around the angel’s waist, his knees pulled up, his ass offered willingly. He remembered the first time they did this, when Cas had shoved him onto his back and reamed him wide, wide open… and he’d never been the same since. Just looking at him made Crowley want to offer to shine his shoes with his tongue, made him want to offer anything and everything the angel could want. He was so hopelessly, hopelessly drawn. His head fell back onto the bed as he revelled in the sensation, in the… _rightness_ of the angel deep inside of him. Crowley had done his fair share of bending over, but he’d never felt so utterly… _compelled_ to, he’d never craved it the way he did the angel._ _

__“Yessss,” he hissed, eyes almost-shutting, squirming in delight on the hard, thick shaft spearing deep into him. He wanted to ride it like a pony, but he equally wanted to let Cas just use him. Arms curled around Cas’ shoulders, and he tried to shift underneath him, but he was too pinned for much but an undignified wriggle. Instead Crowley had to try tightening around him, to try make it feel good. “More, Cas… _god_ more…”_ _

__Another growl from the angel as Crowley tightened around him. He wanted to push in deeper, harder. He positioned the demon’s leg up and against his shoulder, pushing in deeper. ( _That_ he **did** learn from the pizza man.) And _fuck_ it felt good… so good in fact, he hadn’t even noticed his eyes had closed. He opened them immediately to see if the demon was enjoying this new position as much as he was._ _

__Crowley yelped in surprise - that was _new_ \- not that he was complaining that the angel was learning new tricks. He lifted both hands over his head and grabbed hold of the headboard, trying to use it for purchase and also because he thought if he didn’t, he might well rip the angel’s wings out in sheer bloody need. “OH GOD YES,” he shouted, not giving a fuck if anyone could hear them. “HARDER.”_ _

__The angel was pleased with the reaction, trying to oblige Crowley’s need for _harder_ and also not bang him through the wall. Cas thought for a moment, fists clenched in the sheets on the bed as he slammed into the demon, if one leg up felt so good… would two feel better? He paused long enough to position the second leg and continued his thrusting as hard as he dared._ _

__“JESUS FUCKING HELLFIRE CAS,” the demon bellowed out, bent practically in half as the angel ploughed into him. “FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK!” His cock was trapped between them, and he wasn’t entirely sure how the angel was managing to _fit_ in him, but every push, every thrust and his meatsuit just took it all, just swallowed him in greedily. How could it ever be anyone else? How could he ever look at another demon - another _angel_ \- twice, when **his** angel had him so utterly out of his mind with lust? He keened in need, biting his lip to stop himself from begging, though he knew he’d not hold out much longer._ _

__The angel grunted as he bent down to sloppily press his lips against his demon’s. “Don’t bite your lip. It means you can’t scream out, and I very much enjoy you screaming out my name.”_ _

__Cas moved slightly, somehow managing to push in just a little bit deeper, slam in a little bit harder._ _

__“Crowley,” he breathed. “ _Fuck_.”_ _

__“C-C-Cas….” Not so much a scream, as a strangled, desperate plea. He was so lost. He was so very, very lost. He never wanted the angel to stop touching him, never wanted this to be anything other than _them_ \- like this - forever. Forever. Right now, he was sure it was what he wanted. He’d had plenty of lovers over the years, but none of them… none of them had made the hair on the back of his neck prickle like Cas did. None of them made his gut hurt and need. None of them had ever been… his angel._ _

__“Please, Cas, please,” he begged, so very fucking lost. “Please, angel, let me come. I don’t - I can’t - I have to…”_ _

__Castiel stopped abruptly, withdrawing from the demon and flipping him over before he could protest. He pushed Crowley up against the headboard, slamming into him from behind once more, draping himself over his King, reaching his hand around to stroke the demon’s cock._ _

__Cas growled into his lover’s ear, “Come for me, my King.”_ _

__Frantic, Crowley grabbed at the headboard and yelped. He didn’t - couldn’t - wouldn’t - resist, and he moved in perfect synch around the angel, following where his hands guided him without hesitation or second-guessing. He went to bite his own arm to stifle down another cry, but he remembered that Cas wanted to hear his own name, so he threw back his head and obliged: screaming out the angel’s name as loudly as he could._ _

___Castiel_. It was who owned him, utterly. It was he who held the chit marked with his name. It was who he was sworn to, now, in a contract as binding as the King of Hell could offer. He yelled his name once more as the angel jerked him off, but it was as much a prayer as it was a agreement. He had no time to stop, to think, to breathe… all he could do was obey and buck underneath him, onto him, into his hand as he came so hard he nearly blacked out._ _

__The angel’s name bellowed out just before Crowley came all over his hand sent Cas into a rather frantic, erratic movement as he came, spurt after spurt, filling the demon… sealing the deal… They were now _them_ , bound together by Crowley’s magic. Castiel let himself relax on top of Crowley for a moment before withdrawing from his lover, rolling onto his back, breathless. He grabbed for the demon, pulling him down next to him. _ _

__Was it appropriate to say… Cas pushed the thought out of his mind. He would follow Crowley’s lead, like he always did. He would wait to say what was wearing on him. Perhaps it wasn’t the right time… or place? Castiel really had no idea and had already proven himself inept once today - he wasn’t about to do it again._ _

__Crowley’s hands were white-knuckled on the headboard, and he dropped to press his forehead to it, his breath shuddering and breaking. His meatsuit was shaking from its head all the way down to its toes, and it… it felt…_ _

__He didn’t want to move, because he didn’t trust his limbs to behave, but the angel’s arm around his waist insisted, and he could not refuse him a single thing. He slid onto his side - his legs stretching out, and he landed with a little huff. He… he should…_ _

__Crowley pushed into the angel, eyes down in case he didn’t appreciate the sudden… clingy behaviour, but he felt he needed it. He felt he needed to press in along his side, and wrap an arm around his waist. Felt he needed to shove a foot between the angel’s legs, demanding to be held. Eyes closed so he didn’t see the response when he laid his head on Cas’ shoulder._ _

__Castiel’s arm squeezed his demon tighter against him as he snuggled up to him. His other hand finding Crowley’s on his waist and interlacing their fingers together. He smiled, placing a soft kiss to the King’s head that now rested on his shoulder._ _

__He wanted to ask what the protocol was between them now but he couldn’t figure a way to ask that didn’t sound so… militant? He squinted at the ceiling, deep in thought. He wanted to say something, anything, because he wanted to hear Crowley’s voice, his thoughts. He wanted to know what the demon was thinking._ _

__“I enjoy this… very much… I mean,” he stammered. “You and I… this is something--” I love. “This is… I am--” _in love with you_. “Very frustrated that I cannot find the right words.”_ _

__Crowley laughed, but his voice was a little less certain of itself than it normally would be. His thumb slid over the webbing between Cas’ fingers, and then he held that hand tightly. An almost-purr, and he looked up at him… his face soft and full of worried hope._ _

__“I know,” he almost-whispered. “I know, Cas. Me too.”_ _

__Castiel smiled, leaning down for a soft kiss. _Me too_. What did Crowley mean? Did he know what Cas was trying so very hard to say and could not? Did that mean the demon… _ _

__The angel turned onto his side, pulling Crowley closer, tangling their legs together. His face was very close to the demon’s, but he wanted his King to see his smile, the smile that the King of Hell put on the seraph’s face. Another kiss because Castiel could not find any words that he felt would be appropriate for the moment._ _

__Fucking angel. Why was he so pretty? Why did Crowley love watching the way his nose did that little wrinkling thing when he was confused? Why did he laugh when he saw the lines on his brow? Why did he want to giggle unbecomingly when the soldier of the Lord floundered? Why did he just want to grin like a lunatic and stare into those too-old eyes, or use his fingers to trace the way his mouth would move? Crowley was completely fucking owned. And worse? He didn’t even feel bad about it any more. It was… right. Good._ _

__Angel. Capable of destroying him where he stood. Well within his rights to, too. To put a hand to his head and burn all the sin and slaughter out of his meatsuit with the glow of Heaven. But here they were, curled up together… listening to the sounds of breathing, and just… being._ _

__“I’m still annoyed you burned me up, you know,” he pointed out without that smile ever fading at all. “Although now I’m wondering if it was a cunning plan to make sure I leave Hell less so you can keep an eye on me…”_ _

__The seraph grinned. “It was a good performance, though. And with you spending more time here, that just means you can get yourself into less trouble. Someone has to keep an eye on you, after all,” he said, leaning forward to kiss Crowley once more._ _

__Crowley pushed Cas down onto his back, moving to straddle him in a heartbeat. He grabbed for the angel’s hands - pinning them to the pillow - and stole another kiss. “If you wanted to see me more, you know you could just have said. I’ve been here all along… waiting for you.”_ _

__He tried not to sound too accusing, but it was true. Many a long, sad, lonely night spent hoping to hear the flap of wings._ _

__Castiel smiled as Crowley stole kisses, but his words… his words made him feel a bit… guilty. And sad. He lowered his eyes from the demon’s._ _

__“I have not been… I am unfamiliar with how these things work.” A heavy sigh. “I wasn’t sure if it was… if I should stay every time. Dean never stays that often. I don’t have any other model to go by.”_ _

__The smile on Crowley’s face went a little… stiff and plastic. “Oh, so Dean would just… screw and go? Makes sense, I suppose.”_ _

__“Well, I assume that’s what he did. He was never gone all night with any of his women, and they never came to his room. I suppose he _did_ stay with Lisa. But that was different from the women in the bar…” he trailed off, trying to recall if Dean had ever stayed out all night with his bar women._ _

__Oh. _Oh_. So Castiel hadn’t-- and Dean wasn’t-- he should really laugh, because he was doing the same thing Cas had. Assuming. Although Cas didn’t make it easy on him, of course. “I… see. Well. For reference? If you want to do something… then you should do it.”_ _

__“So… if I want to do _this_ ,” he said, poking at Crowley’s side trying to tickle him like he saw people doing on television once. “I should?”_ _

__“Hey - what the - Cas, no!” Crowley tried to shove those hands off him. “Only if the other person wants it, too!”_ _

__Castiel laughed. “Alright, alright.” He stopped poking at the demon and pulled him a little closer instead. “Better?”_ _

__“Better. Kissing? Fine. Canoodling? Fine. Tickling? I’m going to veto…”_ _

__The angel feigned a shocked expression. “Oh, are you now?”_ _

__“Well, perhaps I should have put that in our terms to begin with, but… we can always file for amendments?”_ _

__“I suppose that _is_ an option.” A smile, another kiss. _ _

__“It’s supposed to be a negotiation. I take out tickles, so you put in…?”_ _

__Castiel squinted… he wasn’t really sure… there was only one thing he could think of that he needed that Crowley had refused… “I will not ask for any more souls from you?”_ _

__“...you’ve really never even done negotiation before, have you? Not just… relationships… Cas, if I ask for something I want, you do, too.”_ _

__More squinting. “Oh. I see…” he thought for a moment. “I suppose I could ask for…”_ _

__“C’mon. If you don’t ask, you don’t get,” Crowley insisted. Which - considering all that had happened - was probably advice he needed to hear himself, too._ _

__“Alright. If you insist…”_ _


	19. Chapter 19

“So, with all that, we really need to back off a bit, you see?” Crowley explained.

“Yeah, def. So no more planning _new_ monsters, then?” Cecily asked, adjusting her glasses slightly.

“Precisely. No new monsters.”

“Gotcha.”

“I think that’s all I had for you this week. I’ll keep you updated, and of course, sweetheart, if you come across anything I need to know about? You’ve got my number.”

“On speed dial,” she chirped with a smile.

Cecily flounced out of Crowley’s office as she usually did and headed back to her apartment. ‘No _new_ monsters’ she took to mean as _no new plans_. That of course, didn’t mean the Arachne she had been working on for the last couple weeks should be called off, right?

Better set that plan in motion, just in case. She texted Sam Winchester’s cell phone number to the Arachne with a smirk. _One last monster wouldn’t hurt, right?_

***

Castiel was mid-battle when he felt it. Dean Winchester was dead. There had to be a mistake? He turned over control immediately and flew to his charge, and he arrived at the same moment the Reaper did. He was about to cry out _NO_ , but the Reaper wasn’t there to take Dean… The eldest Winchester had… summoned her? 

Cas remained invisible, listening to the conversation. What the Hell did Dean want Death for? And why was he using a Reaper to get to him? Brow furrowed, the angel observed the two argue until…

“All right, Tessa. Thank you very much. Hello, Dean.” Death arrived.

The seraph held his breath, as though it would help. He was certain Death knew of the angel’s presence, but there was no need to draw attention to it. He listened intently, avoiding looking at Death and focusing on Dean. 

Dean wanted Death to bring Sam’s soul out of the Cage?!

_Dean, NO._ Cas wanted to scream, to grab Dean by his jacket and yell **no** over and over. Didn’t he realize? Didn’t he listen? Sam’s soul was beyond damaged… probably beyond repair, even from Death.

Death was offering to… put up a wall? Cas squinted in confusion.

“In his mind: a dam to hold back the tide,” Death explained. “Nasty, those memories. You don't want to know what they'll do to him. Believe me.”

“Okay… uh, a wall. Sounds good,” Dean said hesitantly. 

_Dean, no. You cannot be considering this . This is a **terrible** idea._

“But it's not permanent,” the Reaper interjected.

“She's right. Nothing lasts forever. Well... I do, but…” Death trailed off. 

Oh, no… this was bad. Sam’s soul had been trapped with Michael and Lucifer in the Cage and the last place it needed to be was back in Sam’s body. Castiel all but vibrated with fear, worry, anxiety and those were just the feelings on the surface.

He made sure Dean’s death was not permanent, then flew to the only place he could think of that might provide any source of comfort.

***

“They mean to put Sam’s soul back,” Cas blurted out, before he’d even said ‘hello’.

“And this is news because?”

“Dean has spoken to Death who _agreed_. He’s going to put up some kind of wall to keep his memories from the Cage out.”

“I… see. And Death didn’t think this was, perhaps, a less-than-good idea? Vis-a-vis the whole ‘tormented by Satan and his even less socially conventional brother’?”

“He said it was a bad idea. Then he offered to put up the wall. This is bad, Crowley. That broken thing will _destroy_ Sam.”

“Well… yes. It will. But… what, exactly, do you plan on doing about it?”

Castiel squinted. “--I… hadn’t thought about that. I just know its bad, Crowley. Is there anything we can do?”

“You mean - stop Death? Cas… I hate to break this to you. I’m the King of Hell, and Death? Kinda… slightly higher up the food chain. I know, I know, it’s hard to believe I’m not _primus inter pares_ , but even I know my limits. If Death’s set his mind on something? I really don’t think I can dissuade him.”

“There’s _nothing_ you can do?” the angel frowned. “Not even as the King of Hell?”

“Hint’s in the title, sweetheart. Hell. Full of the dead. I can bring people back if they come down here, I can make deals for souls - within reason - but Death? As in, the actual Death? He knows only one master, and that guy left the building a long, long time ago.”

“I understand…” the angel sighed. “I’ll keep looking for another way to stop it. For now, I must return to Heaven and check on things there. I’ll see you soon.” Castiel stood for a moment, unsure if he was supposed to say or do anything else, and then he vanished with a flap of his wings.

Crowley was about to say something else, but the damned bird didn’t stay long enough, obviously. Why was it always those bloody humans getting in the way? Clearly Cas was never going to properly commit to this until the humans were sorted and settled, so if he wasn’t allowed to have them conveniently finished… he was just going to have to talk to Death himself.

***

“Well, first off - have you had some work done? Because you’re looking very--”

“Do not try to flatter me, Crowley. I came because you summoned me, nothing more.”

“Yes, well. You’ll note I haven’t tried to bind you.”

“I see. And you think that somehow dragging me here against my will is acceptable because when I arrive, I am free to leave?”

“That and the pizza?” the demon said, waving at the spread he’d got in. “Wasn’t sure on your favourites, so I got a selection. I can feed the rest to the Hellhounds if you don’t like it.”

“I do love how you all think you can somehow cheat Death by providing things I can acquire on my own.”

“But if you got them on your own, you would miss out on my sparkling conversation, hey?”

Death allowed him the slightest of smiles. “You have until I have finished eating, your Highness.”

“Much obliged,” Crowley grinned, moving to sit at the table with him. Another reason he’d got so many of the damned pizzas - and doughballs and garlic breads and breadsticks and wedges and god knows what else - in.

“I am assuming,” Death began, opening up one of the boxes and seeming appeased by the contents, “judging by your timing, that you have asked me here because of the Winchester boys.”

“You would be correct in that assumption,” Crowley granted. “In return, I have assumed that there is nothing I can do to get you to change your mind about Sam’s soul?”

“Correct.” The Grim Reaper peeled open one of the dips, lifting it to sniff like a connoisseur. 

“You’re going to give it back, because you like the little upstarts. And it will hold for a while, but…”

“But it is their choice, of course. And do you not think they deserve to make it? Do you not think the universe is geared towards whatever decisions they choose to make?”

“Not the _whole_ universe, but I agree they get more than their fair share of Get Out Of Jail Free cards.”

“The question remains, then: Why did the King of Hell ask me here, to enquire about a soul he knows is damaged, returning into a human? What possible way does he seek to benefit, either way?”

There were not many beings in existence who could give Crowley a run for his money - either through power, or through mental acuity… but Death? Crowley respected him for good reason. Death was older than anything bar God himself. He hadn’t wanted to make an ass of himself, but for Cas?

“It stands to reason, then, that it’s not for me.”

“I wondered if you would admit to that.”

Crowley shrugged. “What’s the point in hiding it from you? With the Big Guy gone, you’re kind of It, you know.”

“I am aware of the state of play, yes.”

“But you won’t change your mind, no matter what I offer… or even if I tried to threaten you.”

“You would not do that, I think. I think you know it would do no good.”

“Still. Was worth me trying.”

Death found a napkin and started to dab at his mouth, to clean his fingers fastidiously. “I will, of course, give it my best attempt to keep the damage at bay. But even I have my limits, and the Cage - and Michael and Lucifer - will have done their damage. It is not something one easily recovers from. However…”

Crowley leaned forwards. ‘However’ sounded good.

“The humans believe you to already be in my domain, don’t they? You are - superficially - dead. And your… partner? Wishes to conceal his hand in the affair of Sam’s missing soul.”

“I would say that is a fair assessment of the current situation, yes.”

“I - like you - appreciate a professional approach to things. You are… a strange demon, Crowley. I shall not reveal your survival, nor Castiel’s involvement. I will restore Sam to the best of my ability, and the rest of this sequence of events must play out with no further involvement from me. Am I clear?”

“Perfectly.”

“My thanks for the pizza. The pepperoni was particularly good. You should also try the mozzarella sticks.”

Crowley smirked. “I will.”

And then the Grim Reaper was gone.

Crowley wondered if the angels had picked up the habit of vanishing from Death, or if it was simply something hardwired into anything with the power to leave at will.

He fished out one of the mozzarella sticks to try it. Death was right: they weren’t bad at all.

***

“Before you say anything, _he_ came to _me_...”

Castiel frowned. Balthazar had his hands up defensively, and he was backing away, trying to keep distance between them. 

“Who?”

“Oh! Oh. In that case, forget I said anything…”

Castiel closed the distance between them with a blink, grabbing the other angel’s shirt and lifting him as easily as he would his demon. “ _Who_ , Balthazar? What are you concealing from me? Is it… Raphael?”

“Oh, come on, Cassie… give me some credit.”

“It is hard to do so, when you are hiding things from me.”

“Like you don’t from me? Fine… fine. It was your oversized human pet.”

“...Sam?”

“If that’s the one who looks like he should be doing advertisements for hair care products, then yes.”

“What did he want?”

“Do you _really_ want to know? I can tell you, but you might not like it. And I don’t want you to shoot the messenger, my dear brother.”

Cas lowered Balthazar, but he did not let go of the choke-hold on his shirt. 

“Pinky promise?”

“Tell me.”

Balthazar pushed at the seraph’s hands until he let go.

“He doesn’t want his soul back, ducky. He’s happy as he is. Can’t say I blame him, all things told. So…”

“So?”

“I told him if he marked his ves-- his _body_ enough, then his soul would not re-enter it.”

“What did you tell him to do?”

“I told him he needed the blood of his father on his hands. You know. Spiritual father thing.”

“When?”

“Not long ago. If you run, you can probably catch him. Not sure why you’d _want_ to, of course…”

“This conversation is not over,” Cas insisted, and went to find Sam in a hurry.

***

Castiel arrived at Bobby’s house and was shocked to find him tied up and Sam looking at a knife carefully. Even soulless… this was almost a step beyond belief.

“Listen to me. You don't want to do this,” Bobby pleaded. “Sam. I've been like a father to you, boy. Somewhere inside, you've got to know that.”

The seraph’s eyes darted from Sam to Bobby and then back to the youngest Winchester. Castiel hesitated, unsure if he should reveal himself and stop this. Sam’s soul was in a terrible, terrible state. To put it back in… well… 

A voice brought the angel back to the present and he realized what Sam was about to do. Could Cas really let him take an innocent man’s life? Was that even any better, than having a broken soul?

“Well, that's just it. Sorry….” Sam said, raising the knife up. Another split second hesitation before Cas went to reach his hand to stop him.

But someone else beat him to it.

“Hi, Sam. I'm back,” Dean said, just before knocking Sam out.

***

Cas went straight to his demon, blurting out everything the moment he appeared. He didn’t even think about hiding it, he just… needed to tell him, pacing the length of the demon’s office.

Crowley listened intently, moving only to pour out some Craig into two glasses, handing one to Castiel. The angel took it absent-mindedly, not lifting it to his lips. The demon motioned for Cas to follow him to the couch and to sit, and they did. Cas was staring into the middle-distance, his thoughts running riot so fast that he couldn’t begin to keep up with them. He felt paralysed by the sheer weight of the last few hours.

“You hesitated… what was going through your mind?” Crowley asked, taking a sip of the amber liquid slowly.

Castiel held the glass with both hands, elbows resting on his knees. He stared at his reflection in the still, bright liquid. He didn’t breathe, because it would disrupt the peace. Perhaps if he didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t think… then things could stay as they were. “A lot of things…”

“Things like: you were gonna let Bobby Singer’s throat get slit? Don’t you think that would’ve devastated the boys? Not so long ago, you were hard on for getting that lumberjack’s soul back, and now you’re ready to let him go hang to save Sam?”

The angel shook his head. “It’s dangerous for Sam’s soul to be back in his body, Crowley. If the spell had worked…”

“Gigantor the Talking Moose would’ve been a robotic version of himself forever?”

“At least his soul, which has been **destroyed** , I’m certain, wouldn’t be a danger to him. He’s better off without it.”

“No, no, kitten. You’re absolutely right. It’s far more of a danger to have that nasty thing back in… _I_ know that, _you_ know that, but the people who _need_ to know that, **don’t**.”

“It was a mess, Crowley.”

“What was?”

The angel couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Ah. You mean the Big House.”

“I should never have gone for Sam.”

“You really think that? You really think it would have been better for him to stay in that Cage with Lucifer and Michael? Forever?”

The seraph lifted blue, blue eyes to the King of Hell. “I… no longer know. Here - soulless - he has done… terrible things. And when his soul is restored, even with Death’s wall up… no human was made to suffer so much, Crowley. It is worse than…”

“It’s alright. You can say it: worse than being turned into a demon.”

“What… what will he _be_?”

“Only time will tell, Cas.” 

The silence stretched out further. Cas wanted to say more. He wanted to admit that he was terrified, now. He wanted to admit that he’d been too afraid to go back into the Cage, once he’d realised his mistake. How his brothers intimidated him, and how every time he looked at Sam he felt the weight of his failure pressing down like a cross on his shoulders. He wanted to say that he’d fucked up, well and truly. He wanted to ask how he could even start to redeem himself in the brothers’ eyes, when he hadn’t even told them it was _him_...

Castiel sighed heavily, and the sudden light pressure of the demon’s hand on his knee made his chest snap inside. He was about to take a sip of the whisky - about to down it all and say everything - when he heard Dean praying to him. 

“It’s Dean. Death put Sam’s soul back. I have to go.”

Crowley lifted his glass to where the angel had been sitting just a second ago. 

“Good luck, angel.”


	20. Chapter 20

It was true. Death was as good as his word, after all. Cas pulled his hand back from the unconscious Hunter, and wiped a caring hand over his brow. He left Sam - still hooked up to the IV - and rolled down his sleeves as he went to answer Dean’s question. He almost wanted to just leave in disgust, to fly out of there and show his disapproval by his silence… but he owed Dean an answer, if nothing else.

“Well?”

“His soul is in place,” Cas confirmed.

“...is he ever gonna wake up?”

“I’m not a human doctor, Dean.”

“Could you take a guess?”

Could he? Yes. Should he? Possibly not. “Okay. Probably not.”

Dean looked… frustrated? Angry? Disappointed? All of the above? “Oh, well. Don’t sugarcoat it.”

Cas wished he had some other answer, he did. But he wasn’t going to lie… about this, anyway. “I’m sorry, Dean, but I warned you not to put that thing back inside him.” Thing. That’s what it felt like, now. It was a soul, but it was hurt. It wasn’t demonic - not yet - but it felt _wrong_ and somehow even more distasteful to him than even the King of Hell was.

“What was I supposed to do? Let T-1000 walk around, hope he doesn’t open fire?”

The angel wasn’t sure what ‘T-1000’ was, but he suspected it was derogatory. 

“Let me tell you what his soul felt like when I touched it,” Cas snapped. “Like it had been skinned alive, Dean. If you wanted to kill your brother, you should have done it outright.”

He should probably have stayed longer, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to stay around such an abomination any more. The fact it was a monster of his own creation was not lost on him, either. He just could not face up to the visible reminder of his own failure for a moment longer, and he fled to Crowley instead.

***

It was no better, being in the room with the King of Hell as he worked over yet another creature. Castiel paid no attention to whatever kind of monster it was: they were all the same underneath. They were all abominations, just like…

“Ah, Castiel. Nice of you to join us, we’re just getting to the good part,” Crowley said, turning towards the seraph, bloody knife in hand, in what Cas could only assume was some flamboyant display meant to rattle the _thing_ strapped to the metal and leather contraption in the center of the room.

The angel raised his head slightly in a nod of acknowledgement. 

Crowley turned back to the Kitsune with a wicked grin. “If you’re lucky, sweetheart, maybe I can talk the angel into playing a bit.”

The Kitsune snarled, her claws clacking against the metal restraints. “Fuck you,” she spat.

“I’m flattered, darling, but, _no_. Thanks anyway,” the demon chuckled. “Now, where were we… ah, yes.” Crowley pulled the rolling metal tray towards them, lifting the cover from the silver platter to reveal several pituitary glands. “Hungry? You must be… haven’t had any of this for **days** , have you, sweetheart?”

The creature growled, all but drooling at the one thing she needed to survive. Crowley took the opportunity to slice into her chest with a knife, stopping before he reached anything important, only to slowly pull the knife back at a different angle. She howled in pain, slamming her head back against the metal headrest.

“Tell me everything you know about Purgatory and I’ll give you access to the all you can eat buffet tailor-made for you, hmm?”

“I don’t know anything about Purgatory, you dick.”

Castiel was frustrated - and angry - and he was standing next to the demon in a split second.

“You’re lying,” he said, tilting his head at the Kitsune.

Crowley glanced to the side at the angel. So he wanted to play… good. Castiel was better at this than he cared to admit and Crowley always enjoyed watching the seraph work.

“I am not,” the creature said defiantly, her eyes slitted and angry.

The angel’s hand was around her neck in a heartbeat: choking, tight, unforgiving. “Yes. _You are_.”

The King of Hell grinned at the prisoner. “Need I remind you, darling, angels are generally more terrifying than demons.”

Castiel was boiling over with rage. This _monster_ , this _abomination_. Was this what Sam was, now, because of the angel’s failure? A tighter squeeze to funnel out some of his fury, and he let go of the thing’s throat. She gasped for air, pressing back into the restraints to try and remove herself farther from the angel.

The seraph had his blade out, the tip pressed into the Kitsune’s chest. “Tell me… about… Purgatory… _now_.”

The creature was cringing, biting back tears as the seraph’s free hand was back around her neck, slamming her head against the metal behind her head once, twice, three times and he then was clamping down again, squeezing harder now.

Crowley squinted at Cas… this was a little more… reckless? Sloppy? Well… it wasn’t his usual style, that was for sure. As it was, the creature looked like she was about to break, so … kudos to Castiel, he supposed.

“You - you’re looking in the wr-wrong place,” she choked out in a whisper, fighting to get the words past his hand. 

“ **Speak. Plain.**.”

“Dr-dragons… they have a b-book.”

“Oh, ha ha, very funny. Dragons are extinct, numbnuts,” Crowley interjected, his arms folded over his chest.

“No, they’re not… they’re underground.”

“Hipster dragons. I’m sure, sweetheart. Cas, go back to what you were doing before,” he waved a hand.

“I’m not lying! Please! They live underground. That’s where they disappeared to.”

Castiel was inches from the Kitsune’s face. “Why should we believe you?”

“They’re the lore masters, everyone knows. Surprised you don’t.”

The smug look that came over the creature’s face was too much for Castiel to take. She was a monster, she had no right to consider herself any better than him - an angel - or the King of Hell. Castiel’s fists clenched in rage and something in the angel _snapped_.

Cas slammed his fist against the Kitsune’s face over and over again. This was too easy. A snap and the device Crowley had her restrained in was thrown against the wall, the Kitsune on the floor at the angel’s feet. He picked her up by her shirt and threw punch after punch at her. Bright red blood splattered on the angel’s tan overcoat, his face, his tie... but he didn’t care.

Crowley was a bit shocked at Cas’ sudden physical outburst, but went along with it for the time being. He knelt down on one knee by the Kitsune. “Tell us about the book. What’s so important about it?”

Castiel didn’t let up, if anything, he hit harder. Down on the floor he kicked at her stomach, her ribs, her kidneys.

“Mother!” she screamed. 

“What?” Crowley asked, impatient.

Cas yanked her upright and off her feet.

“Mother of a-- of all,” she choked out through tears. “She’s in Purgatory. That’s all I know. That’s all I know!”

Crowley waved for the angel to stop and Cas let the creature fall to the floor with a thud. Crowley stood, straightening his suit, about to ask Castiel a question before the seraph was on top of the Kitsune, strangling her with both hands. The demon could’ve swore Castiel’s eyes were black if he didn’t know any better. He was too shocked to speak; they had what they wanted, the information they needed.

Now was the time to stop. Castiel knew that, he must. So why was he choking the life out of the thing on floor? She posed no threat to either of them. 

“Cas…”

No answer, only more squeezing. Crowley heard the Kitsune’s neck cracking and popping. She tried to scream, but only strangled, horrific noises left her mouth. 

“Cas, stop.” He let a warning note carry in his voice, let his concern bleed through. Who cared if the Kitsune heard? She was of no more use to them, so it was no risk.

The angel let up, driving his blade deep into the creature’s heart, slower than he needed to. He stayed there for a few moments, silently watching the light and life fade from her, before standing and pulling his blade from her chest. He wiped the blood clean on her clothes, then with a twirl of his wrist it was hidden as though it had never been out. Except, of course, for the blood that marred his face, hands and coat.

Crowley raised his eyebrows with a sigh. “Well… Rough day at the office, kitten?”

Cas turned to face Crowley slowly. He let his gaze linger on the demon’s face for a moment, but said nothing. 

“I see… Fancy a drink, then?”

“Fine.”

A snap and the two of them were back in the room they so often frequented. “What’s with you today, ducky? What’s got your panties in a twist _now_?”

“It’s Sam’s soul.”

“Back to the Moose again, are we?”

“Crowley, this is serious. They didn’t listen to me and now, Sam is one bad memory away from being destroyed.” I fucked it up _again_.

“You know as well as I, when those bloody morons put their mind to something, there is literally **nothing** in the world that can stop them. Stop blaming yourself, angel. It’s not your fault.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better. It is entirely my fault. I just… I just want all of this to be over and done with.”

“Soon enough, love. Soon enough.”

***

“Hush, darling, it will all be over soon…” Crowley pushed the young waif forwards with a hand on the small of her back. The stupid little virgin was terrified out of her tiny mind, but he supposed she had a right to be. Hadn’t been easy to find someone still pure as the driven snow at the end of their ten years, and it was even harder to keep his Hounds from her, but she was going to die sooner or later and he’d get her soul then, so… 

He wondered if the golden outfit he’d plastered on her nubile body was going a bit too Star Wars? After all, it had been seven centuries since anyone had last seen a dragon, so it wasn’t as if he could consult many people on what was and was not acceptable to bring to these kinds of meetings?

“Oh _boys_? Is anyone up?”

His voice echoed in the cave, and Crowley found himself wondering - again - why so many beasties had such shocking taste in decor. Would it kill them to like nice, cosy fires? Why was it always bug-infested forests, or hidden underground chambers?

From somewhere further in, he heard a rustle of metal on metal. Ah. So the hoarding thing _was_ accurate. 

“I come bearing gifts, and good tidings,” he called out again, pushing the wench before him. She staggered a little, and he tutted at her. 

They rounded the corner of the passage, and Crowley did have to let the surprise show on his face. There was enough bullion here to finance a small, manned dinner date to the moon and back. Impressive.

The bastards weren’t moving, though. The only other lore he’d found - other than what was all part of the collective unconscious - was that they were sticklers for protocol and high language. Which - of course - meant one of the old tongues. He suspected Latin would do.

“ _Rex Draconis, audite vocem meam_ ,” he called out. “Come on out, you narcoleptic salamander. I come to offer a deal.”

“ _Why do you disturb our sleep, demon_?” came a voice from somewhere under all that gold.

“I want to open a door. A very specific door. I understand you’re the one who knocks?”

“And you disturb us for this?”

“I told you… I’ve come to make a deal. I brought this one…” he shoved her forwards, “as a show of good faith. Plenty more maidens and Rolexes where I got this from.”

The dragon could move surprisingly rapidly when it wanted to.

“You wish to seek _Mater_?”

He canted his head to one side. “Is she the one who can open up the door to Purgatory?”

“ _Mater_ is the one who birthed us all, who rules in the other place as God on high…”

“In that case: yes. I’d love to speak to your mother. Is she…?”

“She lives in the other place, demon. It is her domain.”

“I see. But you can call her?”

The dragon nodded.

“Wonderful! How many of these would you like?”

The beast’s eyes narrowed. “Twelve.”

Twelve? My, they had been under a rock for centuries, if that was what they asked for. Crowley sucked on his teeth. “Alright. I’ll get you twelve more. This one is gratis…”

“We hope you are prepared for this, demon.”

“Oh, I will be,” he said, airily. “Pleasure doing business with you…”


	21. Chapter 21

“You know - you _know_ I’ve always been rooting for you, Cassie, I have… but even so, I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long. We all are. Even Raphael is rattled, and I never thought I’d see the day when he had the wind taken out of his sail.”

“It has not been without sacrifice,” Cas replied. “But things are getting bloodier by the day, Balthazar.”

“I know… it’s why you’ve come to me.”

“So you understand I must insist.”

“Yes… I do. After all, what’s filthy lucre for if there’s no world to spend it in?”

Castiel offered a thin smile, but it was not money or material wealth he wanted. 

“Don’t rupture yourself thanking me, you know. It’s only the biggest treasure trove outside of Hell’s private collection - did you know they own the moon? - not like it’s a biggie or anything.”

“It is a biggie,” Cas countered. “And I understand that. Your support on this will be invaluable. You could save many, many lives.”

“Oh, I’m going to blush if you keep that up, you know? I might even have a hot flush.”

The seraph tilted his head to one side. “Your vessel is not female.”

“I’m still hot stuff, though,” he winked. “No? Okay. Have it your way: I’ll give you the weapons, but I’m going to need to ask a small favour in return. See… I hid them pretty well, and there will be a lot of heat on me when I go looking.”

“Go on.”

“I need to borrow your human pets. Not for long, I promise… and they’ll be as safe as I can make them…”

“I see.”

“Oh, come on, Cas… trust me. If you want the weapons cache, this is the only way. Hell, I’ll even make it fun for them.”

“Just… try not to harm them.”

“Promise.”

***

“The humans are a distraction.”

“No… they are not.”

“You keep leaving, Castiel. They call, and you leave.” 

Rachel looked worried, and Cas wished she didn’t. Rachel was his second-in-command. She had been with him since the beginning, she had come so far under his guidance, and she had bloomed so much. But he did not appreciate her blossoming into questioning him on this.

“Only… when it is safe to do so,” he argued.

“And what if one day it is not? What if one day you have to choose between the humans and us?”

“It will not happen.”

Rachel canted her head to one side, saying nothing more. But he could see it, in her eyes. Could see that she did not believe him.

“You do not understand,” he said, to her silence. “They are the reason… they are the reason I rebelled, Rachel. They convinced me to make my own decisions, to stop the Apocalypse. They are not just… ‘humans’, they are remarkable.”

She nodded, but he didn’t think she saw. Not truly.

Castiel was not sure why - even now - angels seemed to find it so hard to love humanity as God had always wanted them to. Even Michael had seen them as tools, not as things to admire.

“I just hope they do not cause you to fail, some day,” she mumbled and then vanished.

No. It was more likely to be the demon, but he wasn’t about to say that. 

***

“Out with it,” Crowley insisted, the minute the angel landed.

“Out with what, Crowley?”

“Whatever you’ve been doing… whatever dark forces you’ve been sticking your pretty angelic fingers into this time.”

“I do not--”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Cas. I can smell it on you. I can practically _taste_ that limey bird’s feathers. I thought you’d tapped him dry of pointed sticks? Why are you still associating with him?”

“Balthazar did give me all the weapons at his disposal, yes.”

“Then why did I get up this morning to the most god-awful of headaches and the horrible, sinking feeling that the world was _wrong_?”

“Have you, perhaps, been drinking too much?”

Crowley snorted. “No. I haven’t. So are you going to confess, or is this another one of those ‘you do not need to know’ things we discussed?”

The angel sighed heavily. “Balthazar has altered history on my request.”

“He - what, now?”

“I asked him to change a minor point of history.”

“...he put in a giant trapdoor under Raphael’s throne with a remote control, so you can drop him into a pit of angel blades?”

Cas was clearly fighting a little smirk at that. “No.”

“Then what? Because I’ve looked outside, and I don’t see anything glaring, but the whole… _everything_ feels _off_.”

“A ship that once sunk was… saved.”

“I’m guessing you don’t mean you managed to get Harry and Hermione together, after all?”

“I-- what?”

“I’m going to take that as a ‘no’.”

“It was a nautical ship, Crowley.”

“And this ship was important because…?”

“With it remaining afloat, all the souls on board were saved.”

“Cas. Tell me you didn’t…”

“Those souls went on to engender new souls. All of which I have--”

“ _Cas_. This is _not_ a good idea, kitten.”

The angel huffed. “I do not see how it is not. It is a perfect plan. There is less suffering, and there are more souls to help me in my fight.”

“ _Angel_ , please! When we open Purgatory you will have all the souls you need!”

“ **When**.”

“Maybe if you didn’t keep flitting off on damn fool errands, or running around after those human brats--”

“We are not discussing the Winchesters again, Crowley.”

“What do you mean: ‘again’? You never let us discuss them!”

“Precisely.”

“You can’t just go messing about with things like this, Cas… there are consequences.”

“I’ve thought of that.”

“You have, have you?”

“Yes. Sam and Dean can kill Atropos.”

“Sam and Dean can… Cas, that’s _Fate_. Destiny. Moirae. You know.”

“I am closely familiar with her, yes.”

Crowley couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Apparently when you took the training wheels off an angel… you really, really got more than you bargained on. Although - considering Lucifer - maybe he should have been more… circumspect about this. It was too late, now, though. They were on this path, and there was no turning off it. “So you think you can just… bump her off?”

“Balthazar has a weapon which--”

“Oh, please… ‘Balthazar this, Balthazar that...’ Would you listen to yourself?”

“I have no **choice** , Crowley. I need souls.”

“You have no choice but to fuck over Fate? Cas, what’s gotten into you?”

“What has _not_ is more to the point.”

The demon let out a heavy breath. “This is because I wouldn’t give you any more souls, isn’t it? And you weren’t even going to tell me.”

“You did not need to know.” Cas’ head canted to one side. “It was… irrelevant.”

“It was bloody stupid, is what it was. How… many?”

“...another fifty thousand.”

“I… I’m stunned, Cas. I am.”

“Why? You were the one to start this whole rebellion off. Souls are useful. I need them to stay ahead. I need them to _win_.”

“You’re right. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“How are your efforts to locate Eve?”

“...floundering, I’ll be honest with you.”

The angel walked closer. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Well… I’m not going to say no, now, am I?”

***

Cecily walked into the house with Ellsworth, two demons behind them carrying in the last bit of items they needed. 

“Welcome to your own little mission control center.” Cecily wiped a speck of dust from the edge of the desk, flicking it off her fingers with a hint of distaste. 

“So what, ya just want me to sit here and do what I been doing but with more people under my command?” Ellsworth adjusted his hat with a huff. This place was much more spacious than the little shack he’d been in before.

“I’ll provide you with a list of locations of monsters, you send out your minions to pick ‘em up, bag ‘em, tag ‘em and bring ‘em home to Daddy.”

“He ain’t _my_ Daddy.”

“Well, he’s your King, either way, and he’s charged me with the task of organizing this whole thing. Do you job, or there’ll be Hell to pay… literally.” She flashed a sugary sweet smile as she pushed her glasses back up on her nose. She looked down at her notepad, tearing off the top page with a few addresses on it. “Your first batch. Don’t screw it up, ‘kay? I’ll be in touch.” 

Cecily walked out of the house with a grin. Things would go swimmingly as long as Ellsworth kept up with everything, which she knew he was perfectly capable of: it was why she’d chosen him.

She took one last look back at the house, a spitting image of Bobby Singer’s house. She chuckled to herself. Crowley would _have_ to be pleased… and amused with this set up.

After all, why reinvent the wheel?

***

Cas almost didn’t visit, that night. Unsinking the Titanic had been a terrible blow to his war efforts. Yes, the weapons Balthazar had provided were invaluable - were actually capable of injuring and hindering Raphael - but Cas still knew he needed _more_.

Eve was proving hard to track down, and Sam and Dean were intent on killing her. Quite right, too, of course. If he hadn’t needed her to open Purgatory, he would have also been concerned about her presence on the Earth. But she was a necessary evil, a means to an end. He was just going to have to try keeping the brothers away from her long enough for Crowley and himself to get those souls, and then he’d let them do what they wanted with her.

He couldn’t tell Crowley that the boys were trying to hunt her. He couldn’t. Surely Crowley would know, anyway? And the less attention he drew to them, the better. He wanted them to be as safe as possible until he had the situation properly under control… which meant keeping the two parties as far from one another as he could.

Castiel appeared in Hell silently. Crowley was on the couch, for a change. The demon was clad in nothing but a bathrobe and slippers, and he was leafing through a book. Cas peered at it, wondering if it was research? No. It looked to be from a series called ‘Supernatural’, and judging by the poorly decorated dust-jacket, it was some form of paranormal fantasy fiction. The demon had a glass of milk balanced on his stomach - held with one hand - and a little pile of cookies that he was munching through. It was hardly the proud, well-dressed and eminently professional façade he normally displayed. 

As he watched, Crowley licked a finger and turned a page, snickering at something he read and then crunching one of the cookies. He was getting crumbs everywhere. 

Was this who he had fallen in love with? A demon who secretly read werewolf stories and occasionally spoke to himself when no one was around? A demon who nibbled around the edges of cookies and saved the bit with the most chocolate chips for last?

Looking at him now, it was hard to reconcile this creature as the King of Hell. Not that it was always so easy to, he had to admit. When he was torturing monsters or threatening his human friends, then yes. But when he wasn’t? When he was keeping his deals, or when he was a comforting ear? Even watching him, now, was relaxing. Cas carefully perched on the edge of the couch where he would not disturb the King’s feet… except the movement of the couch made him look up.

“You know I’m not mad at you, right, kitten? You don’t need to hide.”

Cas knew he was rumbled, so he let himself be seen. Crowley did a ‘come closer’ gesture with his hand, so Cas did… surprised when Crowley just lifted his own feet and dropped them into the angel’s lap. 

“You want to talk about it?” Crowley asked.

Cas did not.

“Okay. How about a cookie?”

Cas did not want that either. “I am fine, Crowley.”

“Suit yourself. More for me.” He demonstrated by eating another one in that utterly ridiculous way he had. Cas found himself staring.

“You want… me to read to you?” Crowley offered.

“...that… might be pleasant.”

“Okay. But I am _not_ doing voices. You can just imagine those in your head.”

The angel closed his eyes to listen, letting the words of the Prophet Chuck (because that was all they could be, he realised, when the story started in earnest) wash over him in the demon’s honey-bourbon voice. His feet were warm in Cas’ lap, and the angel stroked idly up and down his calf.

Crowley read to him for a long time. It was… pleasant.


	22. Chapter 22

Castiel answered the minute he heard Rachel’s call for him. He was concerned by her sudden dislike of the Winchesters. She had never shown any negative feelings towards humanity before, and frankly? It worried him. He appeared in the warehouse beside her.

“We need to talk,” she said.

“You summoned me here?”

“Castiel, I’ve been hearing things. Things I don’t want to believe. Just tell me if it’s true.”

“If what’s true?” 

To be fair, there was so much that she could mean. Did she mean the deal with Crowley? Or the aborted attempts to gather souls? Or the fact he was now meddling with history - again? 

“You know. Your dirty little secret.”

Ah. That one, then. He tried to keep his face calm. “I have to defeat Raphael.” It was easier to reduce it to these terms. To couch it all in matters of war and strategy, and not the mess it had become.

“Not this way, Castiel.”

“Rachel…”

“We put our faith in you, and… look what you’re turning into.”

The disappointment in her voice, in her face, was almost too much to bear.

“I don’t have a choice.” Please believe me, he thought. Please.

“Then neither do I.”

He was a fraction of a second too slow. Why? Was it because he didn’t believe she would pull out her blade and attack him? Or was he - on some level - convinced she should?

The hesitation was only momentary, though, and then he wrestled her in earnest. He was a seraph, and she had no chance against him - even wounded. He turned her own blade against her and pushed it through her vessel. It was almost… distant. Almost not him. Another angel who lowered her slowly to the ground, who watched as she died. Like Zophiel, but different. So many dead angels, and they were all his doing… one way or another.

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

Now that the sudden self-preservation instinct was lessened, the pain flared bright and urgent. Cas faltered, pressing his hand to his side. He had to get somewhere safe, somewhere he could collapse. Hell was too far, and he did not want to call for Crowley, so he went to the next best place: Bobby Singer’s house.

***

Castiel showed up in Crowley’s office still feeling rather weak. He tried not to stumble in, managing to make it the nearest thing to sit on: Crowley’s desk. He was breathing heavier than normal and his side still ached. 

“Hello, Crowley.”

The demon was half-way through a smile when he saw how pale and drawn the angel looked. “What happened, Cas? You look - pun most certainly not intended - like Hell.”

“Raphael… He attacked and I… I was caught off-guard.”

“Show me?”

Castiel froze for a moment, hoping this wouldn’t give him away. He lifted his shirt. The wound itself was healed, but the area remained reddened and bruised more than it should have. Crowley reached out to touch it, and he flinched back instinctively before his fingers met skin.

“Angel blade?” Crowley asked. “Nasty. Will you… heal?”

Did this mean Crowley wasn’t on to him? That he believed the lie? Cas took a slow, deep breath in. “I will… I would heal myself but…” I used up all my power bringing the boys back. “Raphael was… very powerful…”

Golden eyes narrowed, not happy with the answer. “Then you’re going to let me do it, aren’t you?” It was not really a question. The demon slid a hand behind the angel’s neck, his other hand moving to press over the lingering mark marring the vessel.

Castiel flinched at the hand on the wound, but Crowley’s hand around the back of his neck was comforting… safe. He looked up at the ceiling - unable to look the King in his eyes - wondering to himself if the demon knew the real reason behind his injury, the real reason he was so drained… would he still be so willing to heal the angel?

“Thank you.”

Crowley finished healing him carefully, making sure he knit as much of the vessel back together as he could. The damage to his Grace, however, would take more than his magic allowed. 

“You’re… almost empty, aren’t you?” he asked, pulling his hand back in surprise. “Cas. What the Hell happened to drain you so much? Why didn’t you call for me?”

“You can’t help me in Heaven, Crowley. Unfortunately. It’s complete anarchy up there. You know how war is. It’s very… draining…”

The hand on his neck rubbed soothingly, and Crowley pulled Cas’ clothing back into place gingerly. “Ah, yes. The great big Love Shack in the sky. No, you’re right, I can’t help there no matter how much I might want to.”

He was worrying. Cas looked… terrible. Truly terrible. And all because he’d not been able to help him, to stand side by side with his angel. It… hurt. 

Castiel felt horribly guilty. Not only was he lying through his teeth about what had happened… he was reminding Crowley that he couldn’t help him up there, which was obviously bothering the demon. It was a lot to take in. A lot. Cas felt… sick? Yes, that must be how he was feeling. 

“It’s alright, Crowley. I understand.”

“I still want to help.” Crowley bit his lip, thinking things through. “I can’t… offer you a huge lump sum, right now, but I can… siphon off some juice for you. If you think it will help.”

“You mean you’ll give me more souls? But how? I thought you said… no more?”

“Now my position is more secure, I can make sure some of the weekly income is… diverted? No one will notice. I keep the books, after all.”

The angel furrowed his brow… more souls would certainly help: he needed them, every one of them he could get. “Alright.”

“Well, don’t get _too_ excited, kitten,” Crowley scoffed, lowering his hand from the angel’s neck. “Drop by every - say - Thursday? And I’ll give you what I can.”

“I appreciate your help, Crowley. Are you sure you can afford it? I wouldn’t want to jeopardize your reign.” And fuck something else up.

“I’ll keep an eye on things. I’m smarter than most people give me credit for, you know? It’s why I’m the King, and they are not. But Cas… if you go up against Raphael again? Run. Run hard, and call for me. I’ll come with all my Hellhounds, even if he rips them to shreds.”

Castiel smiled - a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless. Here was Crowley throwing every bit of help he could muster to Cas, and the angel was lying, protecting the Winchesters. Again… 

“If I get into as much trouble as I did today, I’ll call for you.” Did Judas smile like this?

***

“Why has it always got to be me that makes the call, huh? It's not like Cas lives in my ass. The dude's busy.”

Cas did not appreciate the underlying tone behind that, and he appeared in a huff.

“Cas, get out of my ass!” Dean jumped half a mile.

“I was never in your--” A frown. No. He wasn’t. He was usually in the King of Hell. “Have you made any progress in locating Eve?”

“Well we were gonna ask you about that,” the older Hunter joined in. 

“No, I've looked, but she's hidden from me. She's hidden from all angels.” Cas wasn’t even lying. Crowley and he had been trying for weeks to pin her down, but she was evading them at every turn.

Dean looked frustrated - as ever. When didn’t he, these days? “Awesome.”

“You know, what we really need is an inside man,” Sam piped up.

“What do you mean?” Dean’s attention turned to Sam.

“Something with claws and sympathy.”

“Like a friendly monster?”

Sam shrugged those ridiculously broad shoulders of his.

“Those are in short supply these days, don't you think?” Dean asked.

Cas had heard enough. The brothers were determined to find Eve one way or another, and if he didn’t help, they would be suspicious. He was just going to have to play along with them for now. He vanished, but not to find a mark… not to begin with, anyway.

***

Castiel appeared behind the King of Hell. He did not wait for a greeting before he blurted out, “The Winchesters are looking for a monster who will help them find Eve since I cannot.”

“Whoa, boy, hold your horses… they’re going to use a _monster_? And you’re just going to _let them_?” Crowley had been in the middle of catching up on some of his TV programs, and he blipped the show onto pause to pay attention. 

“Of course not. I was going to pick up one of the useless ones - the ones who know nothing of us. I’m not entirely stupid, Crowley. I have it under control. I was just letting you know: the Winchesters are not giving up.”

“Hang on, you’re going to give them a monster? Instead of - oh, I don’t know - giving them to _me_? Why in the blue blazes are you playing along with their ridiculous escapades? Didn’t we discuss this already?”

“Crowley, they have to believe I’m on their side. If I give them to _you_ , you will kill them. A monster, they can handle. **You** \- they cannot escape so easily.”

“So give me the monster, and send the brothers off on some wild goose chase, Cas. We’re getting close… I have the spell already, Eve is the final ingredient. Spin some yarn to keep them occupied or something.”

Castiel was getting frustrated. “It’s a monster you already dismissed. That nest of Vampires: the ones who are so involved with themselves that they are oblivious to the rest of the world. You didn’t want them. They know nothing and are expendable. I have to go... I have to make Sam and Dean think I am still on their side. They _cannot_ find out I am working with you.”

The angel didn’t wait for an answer - not wanting to listen to any more complaints - before flying off to the nest of Vampires. 

Crowley just stared at the empty space that had held the angel moments before. Of course the Winchesters couldn’t find out. Wouldn’t do, would it, for anyone to realise that the King of Hell was _useful_ when it came to keeping the world spinning, would it? Wouldn’t be seemly to admit he was helpful? Or that the angel and he enjoyed spending time together?

Nope. Of course not. He was the dirty little secret, the hidden mistress. Well bollocks to him, he would just sit here and watch his trite television shows. Let the angel go fuck it all up without him again. As ever.

It was easy enough for Cas to enter the nest, and he grabbed the first one he saw by the arm, slamming her back-first into the wall to show he meant business. 

“You listen to me, Vampire. You had better cooperate with me, or I will end you. Do you understand?” Cas growled, .

The Vampire nodded, her eyes suddenly terrified in the presence of an angel. She must be able to tell, he supposed. Must be able to see the Grace inside of him. He tightened his grip on her shaking arm and headed back to Sam and Dean.

***

Now he had the location it was time to tell Crowley so the King could take Eve for himself. Sam, Dean and Bobby would be safe for a short time, he was sure.

“I'll search the town. Give me a moment.”

Cas’ wings flapped - somewhere beyond the visible plane - but somehow… he didn’t move?

Dean was staring at him. “Cas, we can still see you.”

“Yeah, I'm still here.” It was blatantly obvious that he was still here, but sometimes Cas thought that the humans he was charged with were incapable of complex concepts.

“Okay, well you don't have to wait on us, you--”

Cas cleared his throat in an attempt to make Dean shut up, and to focus his powers. He squinted intensely, flapping harder.

“Well now it just looks like you're pooping.”

Why were humans so… crude? “Something's wrong.”

“What, are you stuck?”

“I'm blocked. I'm powerless.”

“You're joking?”

Of course Cas would choose such a foolish thing to joke about. No. It had to be… “Something in this town, is, uh... it's affecting me. I assume it's Eve.” And he knew he would never hear the end of it, either. He’d told Crowley he had this under control, and now he couldn’t even fly away.

“So wait, Mom's making you limp?”

“Figuratively, yes.” That was a sexual comment, wasn’t it? An evil little voice in Castiel’s head wanted to point out he was never ‘limp’ - not around Crowley - but he choked down that voice as soon as it spoke.

“How?”

“I don't know, but she is.”

“Well, that's great, because without your power, you're basically just a baby in a trenchcoat.”

A baby? Really? Castiel had faced down Michael and Lucifer for this human, and just because he couldn’t fly right now, that’s what he thought of him? He was fighting a war against Raphael for the sake of the whole world, he’d taught free will and choice to slaves, he’d masterminded the biggest underdog coup in the history of the world, and Dean thought he was _infantile_?

The seraph vibrated with anger. How dare he! How dare Dean! Was the only one who truly appreciated him - other than, perhaps, Balthazar - the demon?

Perhaps Crowley was right. He was no longer sure who his friends really were. 

Sam made some comment, but Castiel didn’t hear it, because all he could hear was the pounding of blood in his ears.

He’d show Dean _baby_.


	23. Chapter 23

Castiel was listening as Dean and Sam spoke to the two kids in the jail. That’s when Dean started asking about other relatives. 

_You have got to be kidding me._

With an exasperated sigh, Cas stalked over to Dean. “Dean, can I have a word?”

Dean stood, following the angel a few feet away from the kids.

The seraph didn’t even bother turning to face the eldest Winchester before speaking to him quietly. “We need to find Eve now.”

“Yeah. Go. Me and Sam just gotta make a milk run.”

“We need your help here.”

“Hold your water. We'll be back in a few.” Dean turned to walk away.

“Dean... _Dean_. Millions of lives are at stakes here, not just two. Stay focused.”

“Are you kidding?”

“There's a greater purpose here.”

“You know what, I-- I'm getting a little sick and tired of the _greater purposes_ , okay? I think what I'd like to do now is save a couple of kids. If you don't mind. We'll catch up. Okay guys, let's go. C'mon.”

The angel watched as Dean gathered the two boys and ushered them out of the building with Sam in tow. Was Dean _really_ that blinded by all of this? The fate of the world hung in the balance, and Dean was worried about two children? Did he not understand how much Cas had given and given and given for this? If they could not get Eve under control and get Purgatory opened, surely the world would go down in flames.

Cas met Dean’s gaze for a moment, just long enough to see Dean start to roll his eyes before the angel pressed his lips into a thin line and turned away. After everything he’d done for the Winchesters, they just up and left when Castiel asked for their help. The angel was angry. More than once he’d dropped everything - in the middle of a civil war in Heaven - to help those two fools and he asked for one thing, _one thing_ , and they insisted on going against his advice.

Fine. Castiel had more important things to do… like check on Bobby and the Sheriff.

***

“You know, she can see you right now,” the Sheriff pointed out. “And you're just making her mad.”

Bobby was clearly not intimidated. His eyes were dangerous in that uniquely angry-bear mode he had. If nothing else, Cas admired Bobby his ability to say what he thought and felt. It must have been where Sam and Dean picked up the trait. “Then tell the bitch to come get me.”

Cas thought to himself for a moment, before… “I need five minutes alone with him.” He could do this. And it was nothing the Hunters wouldn’t do, after all. He’d seen what Dean was capable of, after all. 

“What for?” the Hunter asked. “Cas, your batteries are dead.”

Not quite as dead as they had been, considering Crowley was feeding him a tithe of the souls bound for Hell, but - again - not wise to say as much. “Give me five minutes.” He could do it in less, if he had to. 

“Alright, fine.”

Cas faced the Sheriff, waiting until Bobby left him in peace. 

He had his angel-blade out in a second, his jaw set in a grim, determined line. “Tell me where she is, and I will make this fast.”

The Sheriff looked at the blade, then shook his head. “I’m not going to talk just because--”

Cas shoved his left hand into the Sheriff’s chest, finding the spark inside and _squeezing_. Power danced over his fingers, and it was easier this time, than it had been with Bobby. He was getting better at this. He was getting better at controlling souls. The scream as he did it was particularly satisfying.

“Tell. Me,” he growled, cheek brushing over the tied man’s jaw, the words spat straight into his ear. “Or I will pull your essence all the way from your cold, dead corpse and torment it for all eternity.”

That got him talking. He spat out the address in a hurry, his eyes wide and his voice shaking. Cas pulled his hand out and then - in a trick he’d learned from Crowley - decapitated the Sheriff with a back-hand swipe. He put his hand out to catch the spurt of blood, and spoke urgently into it.

Again. Again. He tried calling down to Hell, but Crowley wasn’t answering. Eve must be dampening all Supernatural powers she didn’t approve of. Damn. He dumped the blood on the corpse, cleaned and resheathed his blade, and went back out to see Bobby.

“Eve's at 25 Buckley Street. You can call Sam and Dean.”

***

Naturally, Bobby and Castiel were found outside by Eve’s children and dragged into the diner. Why was he surprised? Why did anything surprise him any more? This whole ‘hunt’ had been a farce from the beginning, and Cas was left wishing he’d taken Crowley’s advice and let him deal with this, instead of assuming he could handle it. 

Eve and Dean bantered back and forth until Eve was standing behind Dean suddenly, Castiel thought about stopping her but… it’s not like he’d be able to do anything. After all… Eve had called him _flaccid_... another sexual innuendo? That was neither here, nor there. He watched with some kind of sick, resigned fascination instead.

Dean baited the Mother of All for some stupid reason or another. Why did he think it would help? What possible benefit could it have? “Bite me.”

And that’s exactly what she did.

“No!” Sam struggled against the two things holding him.

“Dean!” the angel yelled, almost as an afterthought, but did not struggle against the one flannel-clad monstrosity holding his arm.

Eve staggered away from Dean, choking, hand raising to her throat.

“Phoenix ash,” Dean said proudly. 

Crowley was going to be _furious_ , was Cas’ first thought. And then when he realised it, he felt a little… guilty. But only a little. Dean had been a pain in the ass ever since he called for him, earlier that day. He didn’t want him _dead_ or _turned_ , but… he was still angry, underneath it all.

“One shell, one ounce of whisky. Down the hatch. Little musty on the afterburn. Call you later, Mom.” The youngest Winchester never tore his eyes from Eve as black liquid covered her.

Eve was dead. Castiel felt his power return in full force, felt the souls in his Grace again, and the glowing blue of Heaven in his wings. He pushed the creature by his side away with ease, preparing to settle this, finally. “Shut your eyes!”

White Grace emanated from his hand and filled the diner, burning the eyes out of every monster in the room. After so long under the thick, musty blanket of her sway, it felt… good.

“We got to take you on more monster hunts,” Bobby said, impressed, as he surveyed the damage.

The angel walked around Eve; her lifeless body sprawled on the floor, the secret to opening Purgatory lay with her. His King would **not** be pleased. He’d fucked up… he’d fucked up badly... _again_. At this rate, Raphael would win, claiming Heaven as his own and destroying everything. Cas felt sick to the pit of his vessel’s stomach, felt despair rising.

“Hey Cas... um, Dean's bleeding pretty good,” Sam said quietly, distracting the angel from his thoughts.

“Yeah, I think she turned me into a Jefferson Starship. Could you... clear that up too?” the older Winchester asked.

Cas placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, healing him as soon as he was asked. Suddenly he was useful again, because he had powers. Because he could smite and heal. No thanks for the information he’d got out of the Sheriff - powerless - no thanks for any number of things he did. All for them. And ruined his own plans in the process. He looked at the other two men for a moment, wondering if their trust and appreciation was really worth it, before turning his sights back on Eve. What was he going to tell Crowley?

“Alright, we're good. We got to go. Now,” Dean announced.

The angel tore his eyes from the Mother of All to look at the Hunter once more. “Where?”

“The kid… The little kid. He's one of 'em.”

Castiel did not even try to hide his repugnance, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “ _Unbelievable_.”

“Yeah, I know Cas, you told me, alright. Let's just go.”

Even though he had no desire to go find these children who were probably turning their whole town into monsters, he teleported the four of them to the house. He couldn’t quite bring himself to be heartless enough to let Eve’s progeny run riot, no matter how much it was Dean’s fault.

***

Castiel’s eyes landed immediately on the dead man in the middle of the room. He sighed, taking in the rest of the scene as quickly and thoroughly as he could, eyes drifting back to Dean as the Hunter started speaking.

“So we kill the Wicked Witch and she still wins. I mean they could've turned half the town by now,” Dean complained. 

Cas started to lift his hands in a _what do you want from me_ gesture. He was about to say that they should’ve listened to him, they should not have wasted time on this ridiculous errand, that they should’ve left the kids in the jail.

But Dean put his hand up. “ **Don't** say it.”

Of course Dean didn’t want to listen when it was something negative about _him_.

“Found 'em,” Bobby’s voice came from just outside the room.

Castiel let Sam and Dean rush by him, sauntering slowly after them. His chest rose and fell on a note of irritation as he saw the two lifeless boys on the ground, blood covering their mouths. That was one blessing, at least.

“Well, who ganked them?” Dean asked.

Sam bent down, dragging his fingers on the floor. Castiel peered over the Hunter’s shoulders curiously.

“Demons,” Sam announced.

The angel’s face fell. Demons here already meant that… Crowley would know. He should have found a way to get in touch with him already, but it was a conversation he was not looking forwards to.

“So, what do you think?” the younger Winchester asked, rolling the sulfur between his fingers.

“I think that demons... don't give a _crap_ about monster tweens unless they're told to.”

“So you think she was telling the truth?” 

“The truth about what?” Castiel asked, his head snapping quickly back towards Sam.

“She said that Crowley's still kicking,” Dean admitted.

_Shit._ Shit, shit shit.

Castiel squinted, trying to keep the ‘poker face’ in place. “But I burned his bones, how c--?” His eyes narrowed further. “Was she certain?”

“Sounded pretty sure. According to her, Crowley's still waterboarding her kids… somewhere.”

“I don't understand.” This was bad… _really_ bad… if the Winchesters knew that Crowley was still alive? He needed to get out of here. He needed to tell the demon **at once**. They would be hunting him, next.

“Well he is a crafty son of a bitch.”

Cas didn’t really hear what Dean said, he was too preoccupied with the million thoughts running through his head at the speed of light. How was Crowley going to react to this? How was he going to keep his partnership with the demon a secret? What would happen if he couldn’t keep it hidden? How would he keep Crowley alive?

“I'm an angel. I'll look into it immediately.” Cas didn’t really know what being an angel had to do with anything at the moment, but he figured now was a good time to remind the Hunters that he was, in fact, an angel. That he was one of God’s holy soldiers. He disappeared without another word, flying back to the diner where he knew Crowley would be, to pick up Eve’s body.


	24. Chapter 24

The angel looked around the sprawled mess of dead monsters. He should probably do something about all the dead bodies, but he was still angry enough that he wanted someone else to.

In the corner, the jukebox started to play. It was surreal, truth be told. The Mother of All and her progeny lay over the linoleum, and soft rock played. It could only be one person. Only Crowley would think it funny.

“ _If only you believe like I believe, baby,_  
 _We'd get by,_  
 _If only you believe in miracles, baby,_  
 _So would I…_ ”

“Really, Cas? This is getting ridiculous.” The demon looked more resigned than angry. “How many times am I gonna have to clean up your messes?”

“This was unavoidable,” Cas lied through his teeth. “We will simply have to find a way around it.”

Crowley looked around at Eve’s children scattered about, eyes burned into black holes. “Unavoidable? Looks like overkill to me, which would be the exact opposite of ‘unavoidable,’ kitten.”

“Once Eve was dead, there was no point in keeping the abominations alive.” The seraph tilted his head to one side. “There are sufficient here for you to experiment on.”

“Never crossed through your mind that they might know _something_ about Purgatory? These were her pets… the ones she kept _close_ , Castiel.”

“And had I kept any alive, the Winchesters would have…” he trailed off, wondering how he could broach the issue. He’d come here to tell him, after all. But now that he needed to, the words simply weren’t there.

Crowley raised his eyebrows, leaning forward, hand to his ear. “The Winchesters would have… _what_? What would they have done, Castiel? Ever heard of zapping them out? You would’ve been able to be back here before anyone had time to blink.”

“They know you are alive,” Cas blurted out. It was better to distract him with bad news than let Crowley second-guess every action he’d done over the past twenty-four hours. “Eve told them.”

The demon ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. “I see… well… you understand this makes things so much more complicated now. You’re a terrible liar, Cas. Better not let it slip you’re working with the King of Hell. What would your precious little pets think of you then?”

The distance between them was gone in a blink. The demon seemed so fond of reminding him that he _could_ do it, after all. He was bloodied, tired, run ragged and he’d spent the day being insulted by everyone who spoke to him. Castiel was _not_ in the mood for the same kind of treatment from the demon, as well. If he wanted abuse he could have asked Dean or even Eve. “I have concealed our deal thus far, Crowley, I am not about to ‘let it slip’ now. Eve is dead, and we must work fast. I have _warned_ you. You almost died the last time you faced them, so perhaps _you_ need to think about how to survive.”

“Is that a _threat_ , angel?”

The seraph’s eyes narrowed. “I do not need to threaten you, _demon_. The Winchesters are perfectly capable of that. You will work out a way to open Purgatory without Eve, and you will stop second-guessing my actions. I want this plan to succeed. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“Well we were literally at the turning point, knocking on Purgatory’s door until _someone_ let Eve get killed. So forgive me if I’m not jumping up and down and celebrating the Mother of All’s death with you. This is a huge blow, Cas. I don’t think you’re aware of many steps backwards we’ve just gone because you let those two morons KILL HER!”

Cas grabbed the demon’s stupid tie and yanked him up onto his tiptoes. “I did not see you here, helping? I did not see you fighting past her power? I did not see you _find her_? I tried to reach you. I tried to _fetch you_. I tried to **call you**. But she was older than me, Crowley. Do you think I stood around looking like… like a baby for my own amusement?” He dropped the demon back down again. “I thought you, of anyone…”

Crowley pulled his cell phone from his pocket, holding it up. “Ever heard one of these, ducky? Your little pets have one - or five - each… I’m sure they would’ve let you mess around with it. Give the _baby_ something to keep him occupied?”

“And Dean has you on ‘speed dial’, Crowley? Right under Bobby’s number? Or was I supposed to call 911 and ask for the King of Hell?”

“I’m certain if you put that pretty little head of yours to work, you’d have worked it out, sweetheart.”

Cas snatched the phone from Crowley’s hand and threw it against the wall. It shattered into pieces with an intensely satisfying _cracking_ noise, and Cas suddenly remembered that he was covered in blood. Other people’s blood, of course. He’d had it on his hands. He’d had so much on his hands for this stupid little plot of theirs.

“Do not test me, demon.”

“Or… _what_?”

“Or I will remind you that _I_ am the superior one in this relationship, Crowley. Without me, Xaphan would have had you caged or worse. Without me, you would be dead under the Winchesters’ knife. You need _me_.” 

Castiel was right. Crowley needed him. In every aspect. He narrowed his eyes at the angel. “Let’s clean up this mess, get these nasty little buggers back to the lab…”

No. Castiel had had enough. He’d been insulted by everyone - everyone! - and the one person who should remember what he was capable of, more so even than Dean? The one being who knew the hard decisions he was making, the double-life he was living… and even he didn’t appreciate him? It was not good enough. _It was not good enough_.

He didn’t even know what got into him, just one minute he was standing there and the next he had Crowley’s wrist in his own, had it twisted up behind the demon’s back, up between his shoulders. **Rage** and frustration and disappointment screamed inside the angel’s head. 

“ **You need me** ,” he snarled into the demon’s ear. You do. Say you do.

Before Crowley could comprehend what was happening, his wrist was twisted. “Yes, angel, I need you, of course I need you.”

What the bloody Hell was this about? Granted, the angel had looked _more_ than pissed when he arrived at the diner, but this… this was a bit terrifying, if he was being honest. Crowley could practically _feel_ the power coming off the seraph. One more time for good measure, “I need you.”

Castiel knew this was wrong. He did. He knew - somewhere, deep down inside, where he could feel but not touch - that this was very, _very_ wrong. But he couldn’t back down now. He would look weak. He would look ridiculous. He had to keep going, had to look like he was in control of himself, of his own actions. The alternative was just too terrifying to confront.

He ran his lips over the demon’s collar, breathing in the smell of fear rising from the back of his neck. He kept that wrist twisted up, and leaned in closer. Leaned in flush against Crowley’s back.

“How much do you need me?”

Crowley really wasn’t sure what exactly had gotten into the angel… “M-more than anything… Cas… what’s going on with you? You’re a acting a bit… off?”

“I am acting myself, for once. I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not. I’m tired of hiding who I am.” He pulled Crowley back upright - only to find the nearest table. He slammed Crowley face-first into it, sweeping him over the surface like a rag to clear it enough for his liking. “I’m tired of pretending I’m anything _less_ than the truth, for fear of frightening people. I’m an angel. I’m a **seraph** , Crowley. You know that, don’t you? You know I could smite any demon in Hell? You know the only thing in my way is an _archangel_?”

Crowley frowned against the table. “Angel… is this because Mummy dearest was making jokes about you being soft? Because I’ll have you know, I’m fully aware of the amount of power you’ve got packed into that ridiculously handsome vessel of yours. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. You never have to doubt whether or not I understand the extent of damage you’re capable of with a single touch, love…”

Cas lifted his free hand to look. He let the borrowed souls around his Grace swirl out, let them play over the gaps between his fingers. _Power_. He had power. Eve had only temporarily neutered him, but it had been terrifying, all the same. Now he was himself again. Now he could make people _see_ how important he was. Now…

“Shut up, Crowley. This is nothing to do with that dead bitch.” A lie, such a lie. So blatant it hurt to speak it. “This is about you remembering your place.” Said place being on the table, with Cas pressed up against his thighs. “This is about you stopping your constant stream of verbal abuse.” It was about Dean. “This is about _me_.”

He snapped the souls back into his vessel, and slammed his hips against the demon below him. “You want me, don’t you? You crave me. Is it because I’m so much better than you?”

_Constant stream of verbal abuse?_ Crowley had no idea what the angel was on about, but whatever it was, he knew better than to push any farther right now. 

“Yes, yes, and ...yes?” 

With his free hand, the angel reached around to rub the heel of his hand over the demon’s crotch. “Is that what you want, Crowley? Is that what you _need_ from me?”

The demon couldn’t deny the hand against his crotch felt good, but… here? Now? Really, angel?

“Cas…” an involuntary thrust against that hand. “I need a lot of things from you… most importantly right now we should really be focusing on cleaning this up…” 

“Really? The second most terrifying angel, and you want me to _clean up_?” Cas groped him harder, pleased to see that the demon was reacting to his touch, to his proximity. “I thought you liked… this…” 

Deft fingers pushed down the demon’s zipper, stole in through layers of clothing to wrap around his dick. “Don’t you want to scream my name?”

“Well it’s more of moving bodies really… you’re just,” his body betrayed him, making him breathe heavier, push into the angel’s palm, lose his train of thought. “You’re much more powerful than me… flick of the wrist and they’re all where they need to be. And I _do_ like this, Cas… just…”

The demon’s eyes closed briefly, letting the feel of Castiel’s hand around his dick be etched into his memory once more.

“You’re a demon,” Cas pointed out, just using two fingers and a thumb, pinching the very tip of his cock and twisting, hard. He knew it would be almost too painful, but not.. not quite… “You’re used to death, decay, sin, darkness…” 

If he breathed in his hair, he could imagine he could smell the brimstone. It was all in his mind, though. He scraped fingernails over the silky smooth skin, tightened his hand like a vice around the base of his shaft, and flickered his tongue in the space behind his ear. “You seem to like it, all the same.”

“It’s not that…” A hiss as nails scraped, as the angel tightened his grip around his cock. The tiniest whimper as the tongue flickered against his skin. “I like everything you do to me, Cas.”

Cas twisted his wrist again, pressed a thumb into the demon’s palm. He flicked one finger out over the demon’s balls until he got another hiss. A slide of his fist up and down, up and down… he grabbed an earlobe between his teeth and growled. “Of course you do. Of course you like it. You’re a sex-crazed fiend. I bet you don’t even _need_ to fuck to seal a deal, do you? You just wanted me in your bed.”

He was jerking him off, dry and rough, and listening to every last little sound… drinking them in, memorising the way the demon’s chest moved when he hitched in a breath. Chiseling in stone in his mind the taste of salt on his skin, the way the demon’s body burned hot and ready for him.

“Cas… I…” Crowley couldn’t even form a proper sentence. He rutted against Castiel’s hand like an animal. Completely distracted from the task they _should_ have been paying attention to, the demon bit his lip to keep the moan quiet. Whatever had gotten into Cas… he liked it - at least now that he had forgotten (for the moment at least) about the worrisome behaviour the angel was displaying.

“You what, Crowley?” Cas asked, his hand going punishingly fast. “You want me inside of you? Is that what _all this_ is about? You want an angel of the Lord to fuck you senseless?”

“I… _FUCK_ , Cas… yes, yes. Fuck me senseless, angel, _please_.”

The belt was undone in a flick of fingers. Cas let go of the demon’s wrist and dick - two hands shoving his shoulders down to keep him in place - and then he yanked the finely-tailored pants down with a rip of fabric. The cotton sunk to pool around his knees, and Cas shoved the remaining fabric down, exposing the King’s ass to the air. It was such a fine ass, that Cas couldn’t resist holding his hips still and lowering his head to bite. 

Under normal circumstances, Crowley might have complained about the ill treatment of his fine suit, but nothing with Castiel was ever ‘normal,’ was it? He sucked in air through his teeth as the angel bit down on his ass. He tried to push back against the seraph, wanting more contact with him in whatever way Cas would give it… needing it.

“Please, angel… don’t tease me… please.”

“When have I ever teased you, demon? When?” He ran his tongue over the faint white marks where his teeth had been, around the pink after-image of his mouth. One finger - two - using the barest hint of Grace to make sure he didn’t tear him open, but otherwise fucking those fingers in raw. “Beg me. Isn’t that what you made me do? **Beg me**.”

“Cas, please, let me have your dick. I want you to fuck me until I can’t stand up straight with it. I need to feel you inside of me, filling me up like only you can. _Please_.”

Those words ran over him like honey, and Cas beamed under the weight of them. Here was someone who knew his worth. Here was someone who remembered what Castiel was, and what he was capable of. He pulled those fingers out and snicked open his own pants, pulling his own cock out. He hesitated - hand around his vessel’s erection - and just blinked.

The King of Hell. Bent over and half-dressed, begging for him. Begging for sexual favours. In a diner surrounded by Eve’s dead children. On the funeral pyre of all their plotting and plans. And here was Cas… ready to fuck him. And why? Why was it so important to make Crowley beg for him, to make him _need_ him? A hand on the back of his neck, holding him down. 

What should he say? What should he do? Was this the right thing? Wasn’t he just using the demon as a crutch?

Crowley pushed back against the angel. “Cas… remember… we talked about teasing. This is teasing. Please don’t tease me, angel, please?” 

Yes, it was, wasn’t it? Teasing. Winding him up and then hesitating. Grabbing the demon by the dick and then promising… but not giving… It was wrong. Cruel. _Evil_. It would make him no better than the demon, after all. 

They were on the verge of losing everything, and rather than discuss it? What did Cas do, but bend him over instead of dealing with their problems? It was just… it was just that Crowley made his blood… 

He held his own cock steady, and dragged it over the demon’s hole. “Don’t worry, Crowley. I know what you need. What you…” hands on his hips, and he used his weight to push all the way in, “... _crave_.”

Crowley didn’t know exactly what he was expecting the angel to do, but for whatever reason, he was not expecting him to push all the way in right off the bat. Needless to say, the moan and accompanying _fuck_ was much louder than the demon would’ve liked it to be. Not that it mattered, he was a sodding wreck, begging and rutting into the angel’s hand like some horny teenager just discovering sex for the first time. 

“Cas. Please fuck me, angel… fuck me hard. Take your anger out on me.”

There was a short, sharp bark of a laugh, and Cas pulled out… only to slam back in as hard as he could. The table rocked in protest, and he felt the sting in his own vessel. “Really, Crowley? Do you think you could handle the ire of Heaven? You’re just a demon…”

The hands on Crowley’s hips held hard enough to leave shadows when he lifted them. Crowley was clearly delusional. Didn’t he know? Didn’t he _know_?

Crowley was immediately second guessing himself as Cas nearly fucked both him _and_ the table right out of the diner. Naturally, he didn’t want to admit that aloud, so instead, he grunted, clutching at the table. It hurt but, damn did it feel good, too.

“ _I asked you a question_ ,” the seraph snapped out, his voice bitter with disgust. “Answer. Me.”

If he wanted hard, Cas could give him hard. If he wanted anger, Cas could give him anger. He scratched pink claw-marks over the demon’s hips as he slammed in again. “ _Does this still feel good?_ ”

“I can handle you… I can because I _trust_ you. I trust you--” he interrupted himself with a moan, fingers clutching at the table harder. “I trust you wouldn’t hurt me. And yes, y-yes, it feels so good, Cas. _Fuck_.”

Trust he wouldn’t hurt him? Didn’t Crowley know? Wasn’t he aware of what Cas was capable of? He could hurt him. He could hurt him _hard_. He reached around to find the demon’s still-hard cock, and yanked brutal and fast. “I could fuck the smoke right out of your meatsuit,” he spat. “I could fuck you out, and then shove you right back in. And you’d love it, wouldn’t you? You’d love it…”

“--I… uh.” Crowley sputtered. “Probably?” 

The demon had no idea if he would or not, but if Cas was doing it, more than likely he’d enjoy it… wouldn’t he? Or was this about what the angel was capable of? The power that surged in the seraph… _stolen_ power. Power that didn’t belong to him, power that was driving the angel a wee bit mad.

“Would you really want to waste all that power on something like that? You could destroy the world with your fingertips, and yet, you chose to please me… or perhaps use me to please yourself? Or both of us? Both is good, no?”

“You talk too much.” Cas grabbed hold of the demon’s mouth, gagging anything further. “You should just take what I give you, and be happy with it.”

Cas wasn’t. Not right now. Everything was spiralling way out of his control. Everything was slipping through his fingers, the tighter he held on. He was panicking, he was going to lose this, too. He was going to…

“Shut up and come for me instead, you _filth_.” He spat the word out, not even meaning it. Or did he? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure he thought that, not any more. It was only the fact he was an angel that meant he could keep this up, that meant he could beat him off mercilessly as he lost control of his thrusts. _Everything was falling apart_.

Crowley’s back arched as he howled out the angel’s name, covering the table, Cas’ hand, his suit, everything with evidence that had no control over himself in the hands - quite literally - of the angel. He could barely breathe, the damn seraph had him so worked up. To be fair, he’d asked for it… and of course, the angel obliged. His grip on the table didn’t let up. His knuckles were as white as the light the angel emanated - which seemed much, much brighter these days, even though the source of power was growing increasingly darker.

It felt good. It felt good to have the demon scream out his name, to tense over him, to spurt out hot and sticky. He pulled out and stood back. He dragged him off the table and pushed him to his knees, smearing the sticky white mess all over his face… and then holding him in place to pull him to his crotch. “You know what to do with that mouth of yours. You know what I like more, than your _words_...”

Crowley took Cas’ dick in his mouth without a word. His tongue swirled around as he bobbed his head up and down, adding his hand with a slight twist. He wasn’t sure if he should look up at Cas or not - or really, if he even _wanted_ to right now - so he closed his eyes instead. Perhaps once this was all over… things would more closely resemble something akin to normalcy. He could hope couldn’t he? As much as he loved to let the angel take control, to let him use him up however he deemed fit… something was… not right with the seraph. 

The King of Hell dared to open his eyes as he sucked and licked noisily, and then to go so far as to look up at his angel slowly.  
.

Crowley’s face was smeared with his own come, his cheeks pink and his lips red. He was… he was… beautiful? He was. Cas stared down at the demon’s pretty face. He looked so good on his knees. He looked so… right. There. Kneeling. His King. _His_ King. 

The angel smeared the mess further around his face, and he let his eyes meet Crowley’s. **Mine** he wanted to growl. Mine. He didn’t even want to think about Purgatory right now, just Crowley. 

“I--”

The words stopped, because what could he say? Nothing. He felt the power, the heat in him spike hard. “Crowley, I--”

Both hands behind his head, he shoved him all the way onto his cock as he came, forcing the demon to swallow him, making him choke and unable to tear his eyes from him.

Why was he so beautiful? Why did he do anything Cas needed? Why?

Crowley calmed himself from the choking, eyes locked on the angel’s, still watering, as he sucked every last bit from Castiel’s cock. He moved slowly now because based on past events, whenever Cas… acted out, if you will, he tended to vanish. The demon could only hope this time would be different. It’s why he didn’t want to drop eye contact. Perhaps if the angel saw, if he looked into his eyes… maybe… maybe he wouldn’t run away.

Cas could see the vague sense of hurt, of fear in the demon’s eyes. Even now he was judging him. Even now… The hands behind his head relaxed a little, and he ran his thumbs over Crowley’s ears. He let the demon finish off gradually, then pulled him carefully back. 

_I should go_ , he thought. I should leave. I have a war to run. I have… places to be. But it wasn’t the other places that called to him which made him leave. It was only ever Crowley, and his own guilty heart. 

He pulled the demon to his feet, hand still on the back of his neck… He wanted to kiss him. Why was that too much? He’d screwed him senseless and choked him on his dick, but kissing? Why was it so hard? His tongue ran over his lips at the memory of his mouth. 

“Clean up this mess,” he said. It wasn’t what he said inside of his mind. He ran his thumb where his lips wanted to be… and then vanished.

Crowley gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Fucking angel.” He snapped himself clean and properly dressed once more. Another couple snaps and the bodies were all back in his lab. A quick text to Cecily to get someone to actually clean up the giant mess, and then it was onto seeing what, if anything, they could learn from Eve’s dead body. 

The demon did not have high hopes… for anything.


	25. Chapter 25

“Hello, Dean.” 

Dean jumped a little at the sudden appearance of the angel in the seat next to him. He slapped a hand on the steering wheel, glancing over to Cas before focusing on the road once more.

“Are you alright?” 

Yeah, I'm… I'm fine. How are you?” the Hunter said, turning to look at Cas. 

The angel stared straight ahead. Perhaps it would be easier to lie if he didn’t look at his charge?

“Just… wanted to check in.”

“So, any word on, uh, Satan Junior being alive?”

Castiel shook his head ‘no’ adding, “I'm… looking, believe me. I just don't understand how Crowley could've tricked me.”

“Well, he's a tricky son of a bitch, that's how. Doesn't matter. But if he _is_ up and kicking, then what does matter is finding him, ripping his head off, and shoving it up his ass.”

Castiel nodded. Great. Not only did he have to face Crowley again after leaving him the way he did in the diner, but now, on top of everything else, he had to tell the demon that the Winchesters were not only looking for him, but they meant to kill him… possibly even the moment they saw him.

He did not want Crowley dead. For more than just business reasons.

“What about you? Found anything?” the angel asked.

“No, nothing yet.”

“Where's Sam?” Tongue flicking out over his lips, biting slightly. The sooner this conversation was over, the better.

“He's keepin’ busy. He's tracking a Djinn in Omaha as we speak. In fact, I'm heading out there right now to meet up with him.”

“Well, I'd come if I could.” Another lie. But something in Dean’s voice told the angel that he was not the only one in this car keeping secrets.

“Yeah, no, I-- I get it. No worries. But, Cas, you'll call, right?” Dean asked. Castiel looked at him, eyes narrowing in confusion, head tilting to the side. “If you get into _real_ trouble?”

Real trouble? What was ‘real trouble’ versus any other kind of trouble? Did Dean suspect Cas was _already_ in trouble? As in… working with Crowley? Castiel had nothing else to say to Dean. After all, what the Hell could Dean do to help Castiel these days? The angel had so many souls boosting his already astonishing powers, a mere human could do nothing to help.

So he did what some might say he did best, he vanished.

And as always, no one was surprised.

***

Cas walked into the demon’s laboratory, where he did his more ‘in depth’ analysis. Eve’s corpse was laid out on a slab, and the demon was meddling with it. There was a Vampire, too, but that being was of minimal importance. He was not the Alpha, which meant he was simple fodder.

“Howdy, partner.” Crowley greeted the angel with a glance, getting right back to fussing with Eve on the table.

Partner. Right. They were, of course. “What have you found?”

“I've found a lot of things. For example… Eve's brain? Dead as a tinned kipper. And yet…” the demon reached a hand into the open cavity that had once been the monster’s chest, coming up with a handful of black and white eggs. “For some reason… she keeps laying eggs.”

The angel walked up to the gurney, peering at the demon’s handiwork. It was disgusting, he had to admit. He was glad that Crowley had taken this task on himself.

“Watch this.” Crowley picked up the heated metal poker eyeing the Vampire in restraints as it squirmed. He smirked as he bent slightly to prod Eve’s brain, sending the creature into violent convulsions. He held it a little longer than he actually needed to before stopping to look at the angel once more. “Chocula here feels every tickle.”

“What is that good for?” The Vampire was gagged, after all, and he seemed to be some minor creature, so Crowley couldn’t be doing it for information.

“Apart from the obvious erotic value,” eyebrows raising and shoulders giving a slight shrug. “You got me.”

“You said Eve could open the door to Purgatory.” Cas was trying to be patient, but Crowley was… what? Messing around with Eve’s posthumous offspring, and torturing Vampires for… fun? It was trivial, and it was not helping their cause.

“Correct. I did. And I'm confident that she could have if she was STILL ALIVE! Single best chance to get over the rainbow, and the Winchesters **killed her**!” How was Castiel not understanding this? That Eve had been the break they had been needing for… how long had they been working on this plan of theirs now? Almost two years?

“It was unavoidable,” Cas said, again. He paced around the gurney to get closer to the demon, who was far too aggravated to be waving around bloody implements of torture.

“You screwed up, Cas.” The still hot poker was in the demon’s hand, pointed at the angel. “You let the hounds mangle the pheasant, and now I am up to my elbows in it.” He said, pushing the rolling tray out of his way, leaving nothing in between the two of them but space.

“What is your point?”

“The point is: you're distracted, and that makes me nervous.”

“I. Am holding up. My end,” Cas spat out.

“Ah, yes. But is that all you're holding?” Crowley walked towards Castiel, eyebrows raised. “See…” he moved closer still to the angel, taking a sniff. “The stench of that Impala's all over your overcoat, angel.” The demon’s lips pressed together in a thin line as he took a few steps back. “I thought we'd agreed: no more nights out with the boys?”

Cas watched as Crowley retreated to a ‘safe’ distance again. Really? He was going to spit out such innuendo and then not back it up? What, precisely, did Crowley think he’d been holding? _Dean_? Why would Cas want to touch Dean like that? He was… _Dean_.

“I spoke with Dean. I needed to know what they know.” He needed to know how much danger they were in. Didn’t Crowley realise? That this was all for _them_?

“About what? About me, maybe?” The demon was no longer concerned with keeping his voice down. Cas _needed_ to know he was angry - furious, actually. “'Cause I happen to have it on good authority that your two little pets are currently trying to HUNT ME DOWN!” 

He stopped for a moment, hoping that would sink into that thick skull the angel had. “ _Forgive me_ , but I think you might have a little conflict of interest here.” Deft fingers twirled the poker around by the handle and he stabbed it into Eve’s brain, the Vampire behind Crowley seizing and crying out over the gag once more. 

He said nothing else, only held the angel’s gaze as if to say, _you need to make a decision, angel._

Cas was taken aback. Crowley rarely lost his cool, and now he was _screaming_ at him. Screaming in a way no one ever did, not at Cas. What was he supposed to do? What was the protocol in these situations? He was… struck dumb.

Crowley pulled the poker from the Mother of All’s brain and turned towards Castiel once more with a sigh. “Please. I'm begging you, Castiel. Just **kill** the Winchesters.”

Anything but that. Anything. Crowley couldn’t insist on that, because… for all they had no faith in him, for all the Hunters were worried about his loyalty, and for all they didn’t seem to give a damn about his holy war, it had been Dean who had shown him freedom. Dean who had pulled him from the safety of Heaven, from the lies his brothers and sisters threw out on a daily basis. Dean who had averted the Apocalypse, with Sam, Bobby… and Cas.

“No.”

“Fine. Then I'll do it myself.”

“If you kill them, I'll just bring them back again.” This was childish and petty, but if that was how Crowley wanted to be, then fine.

“No, you won't. Not where I'll put 'em. Trust me,” the demon snarled. He’d throw those morons so far into the Pit, Lucifer himself wouldn’t have the balls to go down there and get them.

“I said… no.” But he couldn’t keep his eyes up, under Crowley’s judging stare. He knew the demon felt betrayed by this. He knew that his refusal was impossible for him to bear. But Cas just… couldn’t. “Don't worry about them.”

“Don't worry about - what, like _Lucifer_ didn't worry? Or Michael?” He was losing his cool again, voice rising as he named off all the ones who had made the mistake of dismissing the threat the brothers posed. “Or Lilith, or Alastair, or Azazel didn't _worry_?! Am I the only game piece on the board who doesn't underestimate THOSE DENIM-WRAPPED NIGHTMARES?!”

Castiel did not feel like an angel, right then. He did not feel like a being of pure light and heaven, the size of the Chrysler building. He felt… small under the wave of Crowley’s righteous indignation. He couldn’t even argue his point, because he knew that Crowley was right. The Winchesters were the rock, and Crowley was the hard place, and he was stuck between the two. Neither side would yield, and neither side would rest. The sooner Castiel had control of Heaven, the sooner he could… find some way to show them he was right, and everything would just… snap into place.

“Just find Purgatory. If you don't, we will both die again and again, until the end of time.” He turned, pacing towards the exit, unable to meet his eyes. “The Winchesters won't get to you.”

“ **Let ‘em get to me! I'll tear their frigging hearts out!** ” Crowley yelled after the angel. Find Purgatory, yeah. Of course, Cas. I’ll get right on it. It’s not like we haven’t been working on the bloody thing for the last _two fucking years_ or anything. If it was that simple to just **find** it, would they really be here right now? Still? He hoped so… at least in the sense that they’d still be… well at least they wouldn’t be fighting. 

Crowley stabbed the poker into Eve’s brain one more time. The Vampire’s whimpers and struggling was good for a smile at least. But Cas was right… they needed to find Purgatory… and fast.

***

“Red… where's Crowley? No? Nothing? Oh, okay, then. Here, hang on to this for a bit…” 

Bobby shoved Ruby’s knife deep into the demon’s leg, pushing to his feet. The demon howled in agony, and Bobby just walked over to the brothers, leaving him to stew, stuck like a pig in the chair.

“So, what'd you tell him?” Sam asked,

“Nothing,” was Dean’s gruff response. “Just relax.”

Bobby walked up to the pair. “What's the hubbub?”

“I saw Cas. He popped in on me about two hours back.”

“What'd you tell him?” The older Hunter sounded worried. 

“Nothing, all right?” Dean answered with his hands, as much as his words. “Told him we were on some crap monster hunt. He doesn't know that we're getting close to Crowley. You know, he's our friend… and we are lying to him through our teeth.”

“Dean--” Sam jumped in.

But Dean wasn’t going to stop. “--so he burned the wrong bones. So Crowley tricked him.”

“He's an angel!” Bobby snapped.

“He is the Balki Bartokomous of Heaven! He can make a mistake!”

“Nobody's saying nothing yet.” 

“You think that Cas is in with Crowley. _Crowley_?” 

“Look, I'm just saying I don't know. Now, look, I hate myself for even thinking it. But I don't know.”

The seraph watched from the side of the room, invisibly. So… not only did they know Crowley was alive, now they suspected him of working with him? How? Why? Because he’d burned the wrong bones? He couldn’t have done that any differently. He wouldn’t have been able to save Crowley from the Hunters any other way.

“Look, Dean,” Sam joined in, “he's our friend, too, okay? And I'd die for him. I would, but… Look, I'm praying we're wrong here.”

Die for him, would he? All those times Cas had watched and kept them safe? All those times he’d made sure they didn’t wind up as monster bait? But the minute he needed time and space for himself, they would spit blood? He was certain if he explained everything to them that they wouldn’t understand. 

“But if we ain't… if there's a snowball of a snowball's chance here… that means we're dealing with a Superman who's gone dark side. Which means we've got to be cautious, we got to be smart, and maybe stock up on some Kryptonite.” 

Castiel didn’t understand Bobby’s references, not properly, but he supposed it was another insult. They flew thick and fast, recently. He assumed Kryptonite was some form of weapon. Even Dean - Dean who was the only one still arguing in his favour - even he was critical of him. His defence wasn’t that Cas was too good an angel, too righteous and holy… it was ‘he is an idiot, he clearly fucked up’.

It hurt. It hurt because it had a ring of truth. Sam and Bobby were correct that he was working with Crowley, but not for the reasons they thought. It was… _right_. The lesser of two evils. And the fuck ups? Those had all come in since Dean came back onto the scene. Before? They’d worked well together. It had all been fine… 

“This makes you Lois Lane,” Dean told Sam, making his brother sigh.

“Look, one problem at a time here. We got to find Crowley now, before the damn fool cracks open Purgatory.” Bobby walked straight past the hidden angel, back towards his captive demon. 

“Where's Crowley?”

“Up yours,” the demon threw back, but then the Hunter was twisting the knife in his thigh again and he screeched in pain. 

“I don't know where Crowley is!”

“Are you sure about that? 'Cause we can twist again all the way to next summer.” So saying, the knife was rotated again. 

Cas had to admire Bobby’s technique and ruthlessness, though he couldn’t help thinking he or Crowley would have got the information by now. He didn’t _want_ them, to, though. He wanted the humans to be kept in the dark for as long as possible. 

“Oh, God! I never even met him! I don't deal with Crowley direct.”

Ah, there was the break.

“Well, who do you deal with?”

“The dispatcher. A demon named Ellsworth.”

Cas had heard enough. He knew that Ellsworth was another link in the chain back to the King. He knew that the minute Sam, Dean and Bobby found him that Crowley would either feel too threatened and react, or worse? Worse… he’d be hurt.

He flew off to handle the problem. Ellsworth had to die. No… he had to have _never existed_.

***

The Winchesters prayed for Castiel when Ellsworth’s house came up empty and ‘too clean.’

But the angel of Thursday did not go to them. Despite all the power that now flowed through him, despite the thousands of souls, he was scared. Scared of being found out. Of the questions they would ask him about Crowley. He was no good at lying, they would see right through him. What if they saw that it was more than the deal? That it was… 

He couldn’t risk it, so he remained hidden from their eyes.

“Cas is busy,” Dean announced sadly.

“That's all right.” Sam was trying to be reassuring. “We are, too. Come on.”

“Back to square one.” Bobby surveyed the room once more before turning to follow the younger Hunters out.

“Great. Well, what do we do now?” Dean asked.

“Well, we caught one hunter demon before. We can do it again.” Bobby Singer, the Winchesters’ personal cheerleader. 

In all honesty, it was the perfect time to attack. The angel should have expected it. The Hunters were feeling defeated, and thought there was nothing left in the house. The eldest Winchester didn’t even see the demon coming before he was tackled to the floor, the demon’s fists repeatedly hitting his face.

“Dean!” Sam yelled just before he, too was attacked.

“Crowley says ‘Hi’...” the demon straddled atop Dean teased.

Castiel observed for a moment, trying to make a decision in the heat of the moment. He had been caught off guard by this attack… Crowley and the angel had an _agreement_. If the seraph revealed himself, smiting the demons, the King of Hell would be **pissed**... but the Winchesters were still his friends, his charges. He still felt like he needed to protect them with all he had.

So protect them he did. The first demon to get in the way of Castiel and his friends was the one on top of Dean. The angel placed his hand over the abomination’s face, and white Grace boosted with Hell’s souls burned up the demon from the inside out. Cas threw the thing off Dean and onto the floor like it was nothing.

The second was pushed by his gut against the wall, a touch to the face and the light of Heaven - and Hell - burst through the demon’s eyes before he fell lifeless to the floor.

The third and final threat was grabbed by the chin, one more burst of white and Castiel all but growled. He felt like himself again, serving a greater good. It wasn’t confusing, there was no conflict. It was simply, demon = bad: smite.

The Hunters clambered to their feet, broken glass and pieces of furniture making entirely too much noise as they did.

“It is good to see you, Cas,” Dean sighed.

“You all right?” the angel asked.

“Yeah. Perfect timing, Cas,” Sam chimed in.

Castiel thought for a moment. He needed something to say. He tried to think of something on the spot and had a thought for a cover story. “I'm glad I found you. I come with news.”

“Yeah? What?” the older Winchester asked. 

“I… firmly believe Crowley is alive.”

“Yeah. You think, Kojak?” Another reference from Dean that Cas didn’t understand. “Well, Bobby, what do we think about Cas saving our asses… _again_?”

“I think we owe you an apology.” Bobby adjusted his hat.

“Why?” A look of confusion, head tilting to the side. Even though Cas already knew it could be for any number of things.

“We've been hunting Crowley this whole time… and keeping it from you.” It was Sam who confessed. He briefly wondered why Dean hadn’t told him. 

But then Bobby spoke. “We thought… you were working with him.”

No, no, no, _no_. This was the conversation he’d been avoiding, the accusation he couldn’t face. He tried to speak calmly, though he was curious if they could hear his heart beating as loud as he thought it was. 

“You thought what?” the angel asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I know. It's crazy, right?” Dean smiled, hands tucked into his pockets. The older Winchester’s eyes were pleading, **begging** for them to be wrong. For Cas to say they were wrong.

Cas looked down, then to Bobby.

“It’s just that you torched the wrong bones... It doesn't matter. We - we were wrong.”

“You know… you could've just asked me.” The angel approached Bobby, only sparking a glance for Dean. If he focused on Bobby, perhaps the lie would come easier, be more believable.

“And we should have. We never should've doubted you. It's… I just hope you can forgive us,” Dean said, trying to meet the angel’s eyes. 

But Castiel didn’t trust himself to look up… not _quite_ yet. They trusted the angel again. They believed his big lie.

“It's forgotten,” Castiel said, finally daring to meet Dean’s eyes once more.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Cas,” Sam added.

“It is a little absurd, though,” Castiel started.

“I know, I know,” Bobby said, shaking his head.

“Superman going to the dark side… I'm still just Castiel.”

The angel didn’t realise it at the time. Perhaps it was the stress he was under. Or maybe it was Purgatory looming so close they could almost _taste_ it. But having spent so much time spying on the Hunters in secret had bled over into the time they were aware of the seraph’s presence. It was hard to distinguish between the two anymore.

Dean gave the angel a funny look. “I guess we can put away the Kryptonite, right?”

“Exactly.” Castiel nodded. Oblivious to the fact that he had just outed himself as a spy.


	26. Chapter 26

This time, Cas was less polite. He sent the doors flying open - banging against the walls - as he stormed into the lab.

“You sent demons after them?” he demanded, not even in the room, but sure that Crowley would already be listening.

“You kill my hunters. Why can't I **kill yours**?” the demon snarled back. He had expected the angel much sooner, if he was being honest.

Cas didn’t stop until his toes were practically brushing Crowley’s. “They're my friends.”

“You can't have friends, not anymore. I mean, my God. You're _losing_ it!” Crowley took the opportunity to let his eyes run up and down the angel. **Was** he losing it? Was _Crowley_ losing it? The two of them had been at odds ever since Eve’s ‘unavoidable’ demise. Truth be told, ever since then, the _both_ of them had been a little more than on edge. 

“I'm fine.”

“Yeah. You're the very picture of mental health. _Come on._ You don't think I know what this is all about?”

“Enlighten me.” He didn’t blink. He couldn’t. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t look down. The anger was all over Crowley’s face, but Cas knew he had to face up to it. Knew he had to win this, or else Crowley would kill the Winchesters… or die trying. And neither outcome was acceptable.

“The big lie... the Winchesters still buy it. The good Cas, the righteous Cas. And long as _they_ still believe it, _you_ get to believe it. Well, I got news for you, **kitten**. A whore is a whore is a whore.”

That was a step too far. Cas grabbed hold of the demon’s lapels and _slammed_ him back against the wall. A whore, was he? A whore, because he’d consummated on a deal? A whore because he’d sold his body for souls? Was that what Crowley thought of their relationship? That it was all… business? That Castiel’s vessel was simply another bargaining chip? That all their times together were just… _bought_? He was **furious**. It had _not_ been that, not at all. Maybe the first time… but after that? After that it had been because he _wanted_ to. Hadn’t Crowley, too? Hadn’t it been… mutual?

“I'm only gonna say this once. If you touch a hair on their heads, I will tear it all down. Our arrangement... _everything_.” Everything. The late night visits. The stolen kisses. The times spent tangled in one another… _happy_... or so he’d thought. He’d thought that the ‘us’ had been something. He’d thought - hah - when the demon asked for one last deal, one last agreement… no? It wasn’t that? Crowley was just using him to get his happy endings? Like Cas was just some sex worker?

“I'm still an angel,” he snarled, though he felt anything but one right now. He felt hurt and betrayed and like the Devil’s plaything. His eyes on those lips, on Crowley’s eyes. Liar’s mouth, he had. “...and I will bury you.”

He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t be there a moment longer. All their time together, all the things they’d done… and it was… nothing? _Whore_? Said the demon who bent over and waved his ass and begged for a fucking? Why had Cas ever thought this could _be_ something? Why had he let his foolish, idiotic heart get in the way, and see things which could never be there? Why?

The angel had grabbed him like a ragdoll and pushed him up against the nearest wall. Sure, they’d done things like that in the past, but this was different. There was something in the seraph’s eyes. Something that told Crowley he had gone _too far_. For all his banter and insults with the angel, none of them had ever been meant to cut like a hot knife. Not even now. But the demon knew he’d stepped over a line, and the angel made sure the demon was aware.

The bird disappeared, par for the course, really. But it didn’t change the fact that instead of just being slightly pissed… he was hurt. Crowley had hurt his angel. 

“This is not how synergy works!” he screamed after Castiel, brushing off his jacket. Maybe if he held it together on the outside, the pieces that were shattered on the inside would manage to pull themselves back together? 

***

“Castiel, uh… We need you for a little powwow down here, so come on down.”

He shouldn’t have gone. He knew that. But he remembered the look of gratitude and respect on their faces when he’d saved them. He remembered, and he wanted them to keep calling him. He wanted them to trust him again, so when Dean prayed? He listened.

“Hello.”

“Oh, Johnny on the spot.” Bobby sounded surprised.

“You're still here.” Why? Cas was confused.

“Yeah, we had to bury the bodies,” Sam explained.

“And we found a little whiskey,” Dean added. “Thanks for coming.”

“How can I help?” Cas couldn’t see any immediate danger. 

“Oh, look. We - um - we have a new plan. We think we've finally figured out a way to track down Crowley.”

“What is it?” Cas asked Sam, feeling concern rise up.

Which was when Bobby struck the match, tossing it down to the holy oil ring around the angel’s feet. “ It's you.”

“What are you doing?”

“We gotta talk,” Dean said, at last.

Traitor, Cas wanted to hiss. Traitor. Tricking me here. Trapping me.

“About what? Let me go!”

“About Superman,” Dean answered. “And Kryptonite.”

“How'd you know what I said?” Bobby asked. 

“How long you been watching us?” That was Sam.

“You know who spies on people, Cas? Spies.” Dean again.

Cas was beginning to feel outnumbered. This was unfair. This was… this was… _wrong_. They didn’t even let him get a word in, in his defence.

“Okay, just wait. I don't even know what you mean.” He might not get the reference, but he could certainly tell he’d fucked up by repeating it to them. So much for him trying to win them over by showing he paid attention.

“What, about this demon craphole? How is it so, uh… ‘Next to godliness’ clean in here?” Sam pushed.

Bobby was next, without even a pause to let him gather his thoughts. “And how exactly did Crowley trick you with the wrong bones?” 

“It's hard to understand. It's hard to explain.” He was going to have to try, wasn’t he? The days of just trying to conceal the deal were over. He was going to have to find some way to make them understand the seriousness of his holy war. “Just let me go. Let me out and I can--” 

“You got to look at me, man,” Dean pleaded. “You got to level with me and tell me what's going on. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not working with Crowley.”

Cas tried. He did. He looked at Dean - willing him to understand, to at least give him a chance - but the judgement there was too heavy and he lowered his gaze.

“You son of a bitch,” Dean snarled.

“Let me explain.” The look of betrayal was too much. Too heavy. It was not fair. It was not fair for Dean to judge him without even giving him the chance to explain himself. If he could only make him see...

“You're in it with him? You and Crowley have been going after Purgatory together? You have, huh? This whole time.”

“I did it to protect you. I did it to protect all of you.”

Sam was indignant. “Protect us how? By opening a hole into monsterland!”

“He's right, Cas,” the older Hunter pointed out, sounding too-reasoned. “One drop got through, and it was Eve. And you want to break down the entire dam?”

“To get the souls,” the angel insisted. “I can stop Raphael. Please, you have to trust me.”

“Trust you?! How in the hell are we supposed to trust you now?” Sam looked as disappointed as Dean did. Didn’t they know? How much he’d sacrificed for them?

“I'm still me. I'm still your friend. Sam… I'm the one who raised you from Perdition.”

“What? Well, no offense… but you did a pretty piss-poor job of it.” Sam’s voice was filled with disgust, instead of the gratitude he should have shown. “Wait. Did you bring me back soulless… on purpose?”

“How could you think that?”

Even now? Even now… how could they think he would want _that_? Just because he was working with Crowley… he was an angel! He was their **friend**.

“Well, I'm thinking a lot of things right now, Cas.”

“Listen,” Cas tried again. “Raphael will kill us all. He'll turn the world into a graveyard. I had no choice.”

“No, you had a choice. You just made the wrong one.” Dean was dismissive. Of course they wouldn’t hear him out. It was why Cas had kept the whole thing hidden for so long. 

“You don't understand. It's complicated.” It was complicated. It was a business deal. It was hunting _monsters_ , just the same as the Winchesters did. It was… it was _rebellion_ for the sake of the world. 

It was more than that, now.

Complicated. It was the best word for how he felt.

“No, actually, it's not, and you know that,” Dean threw at him. “Why else would you keep this whole thing a secret, huh, unless you knew that it was wrong? When crap like this comes around, we deal with it... like we always have. What we don't do is we don't go out and make another deal with the Devil!”

Dean was one to talk, considering he’d dealt with Crowley before Castiel ever had.

“It sounds so simple when you say it like that. Where were you when I needed to hear it?”

It wasn’t simple, and Crowley was not the Devil. Not how Lucifer was, anyway. Demon, yes. Devil… far from it. It would have been easier on Cas if he was. If he could have hated him, hated this deal… instead of… instead of falling in love with him.

“I was there,” Dean said. “Where were you?”

I know, Cas thought. You were there. I was going to ask you for help, but you had a life. A woman. A child. You had a life, Dean. I wanted to spare you…

“You should've come to us for help, Cas.”

“Maybe.” Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have walked away from Crowley and his pretty words. Away from his promise of power untold. Away from his glittering eyes and clever hands. Outside the wind whirled up loudly, and Cas knew it was the demonic cavalry. Even now - even now - Crowley was coming to save him. Coming to save him, even though he was annoyed with him, still, and he would say ‘I told you so’.

“It's too late now. I can't turn back now. I can't.”

“It's not too late. Damn it, Cas! We can fix this!” the elder Winchester snapped out.

“Dean, it's _not broken_! Run. You have to run now! _Run_!”

It wasn’t broken. It wasn’t. It was still a sound plan. It was still the only gambit worth trying. He watched as the humans ran, leaving him to face his own, personal demon. Dean stared back at him, but Cas knew he had to stay.

The door opened and Crowley sauntered in, leaving his minions outside, swirling about in black clouds. The King of Hell assessed the room and the circle of holy fire that the angel was trapped in, a hint of a smirk on his face. 

“My, my. Playing with fire again?” Crowley snapped, extinguishing the fire at once.

“If you touch the Winchesters…” Cas started, pacing forwards to find the demon… gone?

The King blipped to the other side of the room. “Please,” he said, holding his hands up slightly, palms facing out in a non-threatening manner. “I heard you the first time. I promise: nary a hair on their artfully tousled heads. Besides, I think they've proven my point for me. It's always your friends, isn't it, in the end?” He wasn’t looking directly at Cas, not right now. He _was_ talking with his hands a lot more than usual. He supposed he’d just chalk it up to nerves… after all, they hadn’t made up since their fight… since he… 

“We try to change. We try to improve ourselves. It's always our friends who got to **claw** into our sides and hold us back.” Where was he going with this? He felt like he got a little off track… best to focus on the deal. Remind Cas what _precisely_ was at stake. “But you know what I see here? The new God,” he said, pointing at the angel before him, then back to himself. “And the new Devil, working together,” his hands trying to convey that sense of togetherness.

Friends? They weren’t friends. Whore, was what he’d called him. Whore. That told Cas all he needed to know about their relationship. One word, and it was enough to break his heart. They were not _friends_ and never had been. 

The angel stalked close, and this time the demon didn’t flee. Close. Close enough that he could kiss him, if he wanted to. And he wanted to. Even now. Even though he felt like the world had fallen out from under him… it ached in his chest. “Enough. You stop talking. And get out of my sight.”

Cas didn’t want to be the one to leave, for once. He was tired of running away… tired of feeling dirty, filthy, wrong. It was time _Crowley_ felt that way for once.

You didn’t get to be King of Hell by making friends. And you certainly didn’t take over that reign without more than few hundred people telling you to ‘get out of my sight.’ It was a phrase he was all too familiar with, either uttering it himself, or having it snapped at him. But he could not recall a _single_ instance when those five words **hurt** more than when Castiel spat them in his face.

“Well… glad I came…” He let his eyes fall to the angel’s lips. Those wonderful, soft lips that so many times his own had covered, his teeth had scraped, his tongue flicked over… He was half-tempted to kiss him. He decided not to for one reason: if Castiel had pushed him away, rejected him… well… he just couldn’t take that kind of heartbreak. The venom that coated the words the angel spoke was enough - it was _too much_ , really. 

Crowley chewed on the inside of his lip. “You're welcome, by the way.” It was his turn to leave now. No blipping out… he wanted Castiel to hear his footsteps falling on the hardwood floors. Maybe it would jar something in that muddled brain of his… maybe it would make him stop the demon from leaving… 

Instead, the King stopped, something burning inside that demanded to be spoken. He narrowed his eyes, turning back to the angel. “You know the difference between you and me? I _know_ what I am. What are **you** , Castiel? What **exactly** are you **willing** to do?”

Crowley waited until he was outside of the house to teleport away - back to Hell… where he belonged.

***

Dean was sleeping on the couch, but lightly, fitfully. It only took the barest of flaps of wings and an angel landing to rouse him fully. 

“Hello, Dean.”

“How'd you get in here?”

“The angel-proofing Bobby put up on the house... he got a few things wrong.” 

“Well, it's too bad we got to angel-proof in the first place, isn't it?” The Hunter pushed up from the couch, standing on eye-level with the angel. “Why are you here?”

Cas paced closer. “I want you to understand.”

“Oh, believe me, I get it. Blah, blah, Raphael, right?”

“I'm doing this for you, Dean. I'm doing this _because_ of you.”

A life he’d had. A life Cas hadn’t dared to pull him from. A world he deserved. A family.

“Because of me. Yeah. You got to be kidding me.” Dean couldn’t even face him, he turned his back and walked away, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. 

“You're the one who taught me that freedom and free will--”

The Hunter wouldn’t let him finish, even now. “You're a freakin' child, you know that? Just because you can do what you want doesn't mean that you get to do _whatever_ you want!”

“I - _know_ \- what I'm doing, Dean.”

“I'm not gonna logic you, okay? I'm saying _don't_ … just cause. I'm **asking** you **not to**. That's it.”

“I don't understand…”

“Look: next to Sam, you and Bobby are the closest things I have to family - that you are like a brother to me. So, if I'm asking you not to do something… You got to trust me, man.”

Cas wished it was that easy. Brother or not… Dean had said _freedom_ and _choice_ , but now he didn’t want that? Not if he thought Castiel’s choices were the wrong ones? He’d always known Dean would disagree with his decision, but still he wanted to make him see, to make him understand… 

His eyes lowered, considering. “Or what?”

There was a pause. Clearly Dean had never considered Cas might refuse. Clearly the thought that it would come to this had never crossed his mind. “Or I'll have to do what I have to do to stop you.”

“You can't, Dean. You're just a man. I'm an angel.”

An angel who wasn’t so sure of himself, any more, but an angel with half of Heaven and all of Hell behind him. An angel brimming with souls and on the verge of more. An angel with all the weapons of the Host at his disposal. It should have sounded more like a threat, but even to his own ears it sounded… like a failed reminder.

“I don't know. I've taken some pretty big fish.”

Cas remembered. He remembered Lucifer and Michael. He remembered Dean saying ‘no’ to an archangel, and the Apocalypse. He remembered being ready to die for him. “I'm sorry, Dean.”

There was no reasoning with him, so Cas vanished from sight. He ignored Dean’s reply - the hurt look in his eyes - and went for the other thing he’d come for. Before they learned how to actually angel-proof, he had to take the opportunity to raid their books. If anyone knew how to open Purgatory without Eve, it was the Winchesters and the Campbells.

***

Alone in the park, the seraph told his tale from beginning to end. He poured out the story of the last two years. A story of a deal, a secret, a war, and a relationship that should never have started. Humans confessed, and sometimes it brought them relief. They spoke their sins to a priest and received forgiveness. Cas could not tell a priest these things, but he could say them to the empty air.

“So, that's everything. I believe it's what you would call a… tragedy, from the human perspective. But maybe the human perspective is… limited. I don't know. That's why I'm asking you, Father. One last time. Am I doing the right thing? Am I on the right path?”

He stared out into the nothing, and watched it stare back. No answer. No show that anyone or anything had heard him. “You have to tell me. You have to give me… a sign. Give me a sign. Because if you don't… I'm gonna ju-- I'm gonna do whatever I... whatever I must.”

Blue eyes closed in pain. Just one sign. Just one indication that this was right, or wrong. Just some small show, and his faith would be rekindled. Where was He? Where was his Father? Didn’t He care? Didn’t he realise his son was broken?

But there was no parting of clouds, no writing appearing on the wall, no painful allegory or parable to guide him through this broken, jagged world the seraph found himself in.

Nothing. 

How could he? He needed those souls. He had to have them, or everything was ruined. Maybe he should just… take them? Keep them from Crowley’s hands? Use them only for good, not for evil?

Maybe he should just end their stupid affair? Was it even still a thing? Were they even _anything_?

_Help me, Father_ , he prayed, inside of his head, loud enough to feel like a scream. _I love him._


	27. Chapter 27

If the angel wanted to play games, that’s exactly what Crowley was going to do: play games. 

As it were, the Winchesters were off-limits, no touchy… he’d given Cas his word. There was something - or someone, actually - that might be just as good… 

Dean had made a vital mistake in involving Lisa and Ben Braeden in his fucked-up life. Dean should’ve known it’d come back to bite him in his ass sooner or later. Especially with this whole Purgatory mess, one would’ve thought the eldest Winchester wouldn’t make the same mistakes his dear old daddy did.

They were _easy_ to get to, really. The demons took over the house in a matter of seconds. Ben was trying to climb out the window when they nabbed him - the poor little brat had showed some ingenuity at least. Must be genetic. Crowley picked up the phone from the floor… he could hear Dean’s whiny voice on the other end.

“Hello, Dean… fancy a chat? God, how long's it been, Dean? Since my so-called demise, yes?”

The King of Hell could practically hear Dean bristling through the phone. “Crowley, let 'em go now, or I swear…”

“Right, right,” the demon interrupted. “You'll rip me a cornucopia of orifices. Let's get to the bit where I tell you how this goes. Your chocolate's been in my peanut butter for far too long.”

“I am going to kill you.”

“Oh Dean, ever the wit. I've got your uh, oh what are they? Ex lady-friend and not-kid, and I'm keeping them until I'm satisfied that you've **backed the hell off**!”

“I'm telling you, last chance to let 'em go easy.”

“You're adorable when you get all threatening. Don't worry, I won't hurt them. Provided you and Jolly Green stand down. Got it? Splendid. Kisses.” The demon hung up the phone with a smirk, looking around the room. He chuckled to himself. If _this_ didn’t kickstart Castiel to finding Purgatory, he didn’t know **what** would.

***

“Hello,” Castiel said, staring intently at the collector. “I am the man who called you on the telephone about the letters you have.”

“Yeah, right, Jimmy, wasn’t it?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. Yes. That had been the name he picked.

Judah did the same in response. “R-iiight. Okay. Yeah. I’ve got the single world’s largest collection of Lovecraft’s private letters.”

“That is why I would like to discuss them with you.”

“For your story, right?”

“Yes. My story. I am writing a story. About Lovecraft. And his personal life.” 

This was so much harder than Cas remembered it looking. He kept wondering if maybe he should just follow Crowley’s methods and torture the information out of people, but… no. This was a human. He did not need to torture them, unless they didn’t give him what he needed.

“Well, I’m delighted, you know? He really needs more attention. Man was a genius. Real literature. I mean - it’s a whole other genre, but he should be taught in schools like Shelley is. He’s on a par with the literary greats, you know? Dickens? Dean?”

“That is why I want to write about him. So more people appreciate him. And his works.”

“Well that’s cool with me, man. So… what did you want to know?”

“I am interested in the events that occurred on March 10th in the year 1937.”

“Okay… pretty specific.”

“It will be a specific story.”

“...alright… let me get out the notes.”

Cas waited patiently as Judah went to fetch some archive boxes. He put one down on the counter, and leafed carefully through them. It was taking too long. It was just a letter, why was he being so pedantic about how he handled the paper?

“Let’s see… ah! Ah yes, I thought so. Oh. Interesting choice…”

“What does it say?”

“Okay, hold your horses. Howard hosted a dinner party that night.”

“What form of dinner party?”

“Uhm… you know, right?”

“No, that is why I am asking.”

“O-kay… this is gonna be a rude awakening for you, bro. Well. Howard liked to have… parties. With fellow - uh - believers. You know. Black magic. Sort of a cult type thing. They liked to - uh - perform rituals. But that night it looks like it was a shebang of a thing.”

“What was the ritual in aid of?”

“Oh… a portal to another dimension.”

Yes. Perfect. Purgatory. It had to be Purgatory. 

“Did it say how they did it?”

“Actually, there’s a couple of letters about this, after the first one, so…” Judah shuffled through his files, pulling them out. “You wanna read through? Or take some copies?”

“I will just read, thank you, I have a good memory.” It was true, Castiel did. But instead he planned on coming back later to take the letters. He knew if he was on this path, that there was every chance that before long the Winchesters would be, too, and he had to keep them off their trail.

“Alright. You’re gonna credit me in the article, right?”

“Of course. Your name will be there in all of the notes.”

Cas didn’t know how you wrote an article, or thanked someone, but he suspected that was a good enough answer. 

“Cool, man. Okay. Well. You need anything else?”

“This will be sufficient for now. Thank you.”

“Any time, man. You know where I am.”

“I do.”

***

Cas heard Sam’s prayers, of course. Heard the desperation in his voice. Sam, not Dean. Dean clearly couldn’t bring himself to ask for help. He listened with a breaking heart, but he didn’t go to them. Why? They would only look disappointed and angry with him, because he couldn’t do what they wanted. Couldn’t find and free them. 

He went straight to the source of the problem - of so many problems - Crowley. The angel frowned at the music playing in the background.

“ _Smiling faces, smiling faces sometimes,_  
 _They don't tell the truth,_  
 _Smiling faces, smiling faces,_  
 _Tell lies and I got proof,_  
 _(Smiling faces, smiling faces sometimes),_  
 _(Smiling faces, smiling faces sometimes),_  
 _I'm telling you beware, beware of the handshake..._ ”

Crowley was flipping through the pages of an anatomy book. Always looking for a new trick to invoke a sense of the exotic in a torture session - especially now that he had little Miss Not-Quite-A-Winchester and Not-Dean’s-Son. He looked up as the angel walked through the doors with a sense of purpose.

“Sweetie. You look tense.” The demon had expected him, of course.

“You took Ben and Lisa.” Cas kept his distance, this time, watching as the demon paced around the lab. 

“Oh… that.” Crowley smirked, all but flouncing across the lab.

“I told you--”

“Not to touch Sam and Dean. And I've respected that. I'm merely exploiting the obvious loophole. As long as I have the woman and boy, your fop-coiffed little heroes will be scouring the earth for them - therefore not you, and not me. Everybody wins,” he said, tossing the rag into the utility sink with a thwack.

Of course. Of course he’d done that. It made perfect tactical sense, and it was not something he’d forbidden, either. It was breaking the spirit of their agreement, but not the letter of it. And… even though he was irritated, he could see it made sense. And that was the worst part. “You should've talked to me first.”

“I'd rather ask forgiveness than permission.” The King chuckled at the angel. Didn’t he understand why he was doing this? Aside from the _legitimate_ reason of throwing the Winchesters off their trail, it was double the fun to see the bird so riled up. _Why_ couldn’t Crowley behave normally? Why couldn’t he just apologize for the harsh words he’d spoken that started this lover’s quarrel in the first place?

“ _Where are they, Crowley_?” Strategic sense it made, but Cas wasn’t sure how well they’d be treated under the demon’s hand. After all, he’d made his dislike of the Winchesters plain, and Ben and Lisa were almost Winchesters.

Crowley pressed his thumb and forefinger together, mimicking a zipper closing his mouth. He twisted his fingers, as though locking it and dropped an imaginary key inside his coat pocket.

“You are _not_ to _harm_ them, do you understand me?” His voice turned darker, the anger bleeding into his tone.

“You know what?” He took a couple of steps closer to the angel, pointing at him. “You're all maxed out on putting humans out of bounds. I'll do with them as I please. Wanna stop me?” Please, angel. Stop me. Kiss me. Slam me up against the wall… no? Fine. “Go **find frigging Purgatory**!”

Cas wanted to say more, he did. He wanted to yell holy hellfire and divine wrath and have Crowley back under control. He wanted the demon to look at him like he had in the diner. He wanted to settle this, once and for all. 

But instead, his head rang with the endless call of his name. Over and over, insistent and unavoidable. It drowned everything else out, and Cas wanted to scream.

“Call on the bat-phone? Never call during business hours, do they?” Crowley scrunched up his face. It was _always_ at some of the **worst** possible times that damn, bloody thing went off. Always taking the angel away from the demon. 

“I'll be back.”

He planned on it. This conversation was _not_ over. Crowley was going to give the boy and the woman back… one way or another.

It wasn’t the conversation they _needed_ to have, of course, but his hand was somewhat forced. Damn Crowley and his ridiculous escalations.

The angel left in a beat of wings, wondering what new disaster was in store.

***

“Cas, Cas, Cas. So good of you to come.”

Cas looked around to see what the commotion was. He’d been called on the radio at high urgency, and here was Balthazar standing in the middle of a forest looking… reasonably calm?

“Balthazar. Why'd you summon me here?”

“Can I ask you a direct question?”

“Of course.” No. Oh Hell no. Nothing he could ask would be good. He could only assume that either the ‘rumours’ Rachel had heard - or worse, the Winchesters - had reached the other angel’s ears. Not Balthazar. He was his _friend_.

“Are you _in flagrante_ with the King of Hades?”

Castiel knew that that term meant. _In flagrante delicto_. In blazing offence. He knew, too, that it meant ‘caught red handed’... in bed. Here was his brother asking him if he was carnal with the King of Hell. 

“Of course not,” he lied through his teeth.

The other angel laughed at him. “Always were such a terrible liar. So it's true. Alright then, why?”

Yes, it was true. They were partners and bedmates. War, and strange bedfellows. Balthazar seemed less… surprised and disgusted than he had come to expect. 

“It's a means to an end. Balthazar, you understand that.” Of all the angels bar Gabriel, surely Balthazar would understand it better than anyone. And he didn’t just mean the deal, either.

“Oh, absolutely. But what's the end here exactly? You know, raid Purgatory, snatch up all the souls?”

The burning question. Snatch… all the souls? Keep them all for Heaven. Like he’d considered. Like he’d thought about, when no one else was around. 

“Win the war.” Cas was sure on that, if nothing else.

“And I can only assume that you'd be the vessel, correct? Suck up all those souls into yourself? All that power?”

“It's the only way.”

It was not the only way. It was _one_ way. It would betray the whole relationship - no, _partnership_ \- he had with Crowley, but it would mean the souls were only used for good, and mean he was certainly victorious.

“Or too much juice for you, in which case you explode, taking a substantial chunk of the planet along with you.”

“That won't happen.” It well might. It was another reason not to change the plan. Castiel did not want to explode under all that power… but he’d been getting better. He’d managed all the souls Crowley had given to him - and the second batch - and he’d touched Bobby’s without any issue, so…

“Sure, sure. Of course.” Balthazar was mocking him. “Just - just tell me that it's entirely risk-free.”

Because Balthazar thought the plan was good, of course. In theory. With riders and provisos. The plan he liked. Crowley? He did not.

“I'm sorry that I didn't tell you,” he apologised, “but I need to know. Are you with me or not?”

Again, mocking laughter. It stung. “Ah. You know, you may be certifiable, but fine. In for a penny, in for a pound.”

“How'd you hear about this anyway?”

“Oh, your howler monkeys of course. See they're just a touch worked up about that kidnapping business, you know?”

“That was… that was not me.”

“Well, whether you did it or not, you’re working with the demon who did. You can understand why they might get a bit… tetchy, can’t you?”

“It… I…”

“I know, Cas, I know. I mean - I have no love for the monkeys one way or another. They make good food and drink, they make a mean suit…” he said, gesturing down at the vessel he inhabited, “and they know how to party, but…”

“I told Crowley to leave the Winchesters alone.”

“But he saw the loophole and exploited it? Cas. _Cas_. He’s a _demon_. What did you expect? You have to know that deception and demons go hand-in-glove.”

“But he has… he…”

“Look, Cas. I know he must be charming and debonair and offer you the moon on a stick, but he’s a _demon_. You remember Luci, right? Father of their kind? Offering people what they want, tricking them… it’s sort of the _modus operandi_. Right there in the instruction manual.”

Was that what Cas wanted? Really? Surely if Crowley was just trying to keep him sweet then they’d not fight? Surely Crowley would just… offer him whatever he wanted, until they got their souls? They wouldn’t be arguing. It wouldn’t hurt his heart like this. Why had Crowley said those things? None of it made sense.

“Yes. You are right,” Cas lied again. He couldn’t bear this conversation a moment longer… so he ran.


	28. Chapter 28

Castiel stood stiffly as he introduced himself as Jimmy, a reporter documenting H.P. Lovecraft’s infamous dinner party. All the guests had died shortly after, but the child of one of the practitioners had survived. He seemed like the best bet, for all he was apparently ‘insane’.

The man looked at him skeptically. “Not very personable for a reporter, are you?”

“I usually write about… nature. Nature doesn’t require conversation.”

“How’d you get stuck on this story?”

“I was asked to help out a friend.”

The older man in the wheelchair chuckled a bit to himself. “You got friends?”

Cas pressed his lips into a thin line. “Yes.” Did he? Did he have friends? Dean apparently wasn’t a friend anymore, nor was Sam. In fact, the only friend he thought he had called him a whore and they had barely spoken since then. Focus, Castiel. This is of _great_ import. “Would you mind telling me about what really happened at the dinner party at H.P. Lovecraft’s home?”

“Wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

“I will.”

The man leaned forward in his wheelchair, clasping his hands together. “I doubt that.”

“Please, sir. I believe in many things that hu-- that other people do not.”

“Things like _monsters_?” the man whispered.

Castiel nodded yes. Of course he did. He’d been dating one.

“You looking to relocate yourself into a place like this?”

The angel tilted his head at the man, but said nothing. 

“Alright, look. They did their little spell and something came through, though nobody could see it… but _I_ knew. I knew the truth. That thing that come through went into my mother. She started acting funny, smelled different, too. Then one day, she was gone. She just,” he threw his hands up. “Vanished! Just like that. And then one by one, sure enough, everybody that was there that night, they all started dying.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “I see. Mr. Westborough, I want you to know that I believe you. Thank you for your time. It is greatly appreciated.” The angel offered a smile, getting ready to stand up.

“You wanna see a picture of her? Before you go?” the man asked, digging into his shirt pocket.

“Sure.” He didn’t see how that would help, but he took it as the man offered. “She was very beautiful.” 

The man beamed as Castiel turned the picture over _Eleanor - 1935_. That was useless. He handed the picture back to the man with a nod and walked out of the room. 

This wasn’t very productive. Perhaps he’d check in on Bobby… see if he’d made any headway.

***

Dean drew blood up into the hypodermic, stalking over to the demon tied up to the chair. 

“I promise you, pal. Start talking.” The Hunter made the smallest of breaks in the Devil’s Trap, but he didn’t notice. The demon, of course, did.

“...or I swear, I will rip your skin off, strip by strip. And then I'm gonna kill you.” He leaned in close. “And then I'm gonna do it to the next demon. You hear me?”

“Yeah.” His eyes flickered black. “I hear you.”

Dean did not expect that, or being thrown against the van. All of a sudden the demon had his hands around the Hunter’s throat, strangling him slowly.

“So you can stop talking, you miserable sack,” the demon spat at him, filled with venom.

Friend or no, happy with him or not, Castiel just could not let his charge be murdered like that. He made himself visible and slammed a hand on the back of the demon’s head, scorching his Grace and borrowed power out through the demon’s face. 

But instead of gratitude, of course...

“I didn't ask for your help,” Dean huffed, struggling to regain his breath.

“Well, regardless, you're welcome.”

It was not as if Cas had expected to be welcomed back with open arms, even if he was trying to help. But still… it hurt.

“Why are you here?” Dean walked straight past him.

“I had no idea Crowley would take Lisa and Ben.”

He picked up the broken strap, still not really meeting his gaze properly. “Yeah right.”

“You don't believe me.”

It stung. It really did. He’d done so much for them, and they still thought he would injure their _friends_? Cas had gone all-out to protect them, to defend them, but still they thought him no better than the demon?

“I don't believe a word that's coming out of your mouth.”

“I thought you said that we were like family. Well I think that too. Shouldn't trust run both ways?” He wanted so very badly to shout, to scream. To slam Dean into one of the cars, to make him understand. Cas had _tried_.

“Cas, I just can't…”

“Dean,” the angel pleaded. “I do everything that you ask. I always come when you call, and I am your friend. Still, despite your lack of faith in me - and now your threats - I just saved you, yet again. Has anyone but your closest kin ever done more for you? All I ask is this one thing.”

“Trust your plan to pop Purgatory?”

“I've earned that, Dean.”

He was sure he had. 

“I came to tell you that I will find Lisa and Ben, and I will bring them back. Stand behind me, the one time I ask,” he begged.

“You're asking me to stand down?”

“Dean.”

“That's the same damn ransom note that Crowley handed me. You know that, right? Well no thanks. I'll find 'em myself. In fact, why don't you go back to Crowley and tell him that I said you can both kiss my ass.”

Of course it was the same thing Crowley had asked. Of course. It was why Cas demanded it, because they both _needed it_. 

It struck him that Crowley was, in fact, being ‘nice’, as demons went. Even now. He’d demanded the Winchesters be off-limits, and he’d acquiesced. In principle. Since their fight, Crowley had not sent any more demon hit-squads after them.

He just… didn’t know what would happen when they got those souls. When Heaven was back under control, what would happen to Hell?

***

Castiel didn’t know exactly how long he had standing there watching. This was his fault. Lisa was hurt and it was _on him_. He felt sick again… He never meant to hurt anyone. That was never part of the plan. If only Dean had trusted him… would it have made a difference? Aside from the validation the angel would feel. 

Dean looked up at Ben with a heart so heavy Castiel could practically feel it from where he stood, invisible. “Ben, I'm sorry.”

But the child had nothing to say. He stood abruptly and left.

“Ben.” The eldest Winchester did not have time to try to stop him from leaving before Castiel made himself visible at that moment.

“What do you want?”

“Dean, listen.”

“What do you want me to say? She'll be dead by midnight.”

“I'm sorry.” He was. Not just for Lisa. But for everything. But it was too late to turn back now. They were close, oh so close, and he had made a deal with Crowley. That meant something, right? Of course it did… didn’t it?

“I don't care. It's too little, too late.”

“Okay. Well, regardless, I didn't come for you.” He tried to apologize to Dean and Dean didn’t want to hear it so fine. Best get to the point, then.

“Meaning?”

Castiel walked closer to Lisa, lying unconscious on the bed. He placed his hand on her head, healing her with unseen Grace. “She's fine now. She'll wake soon... Dean, I said I'm sorry and I meant it.”

Dean stood slowly. “Thank you. I wish this changed anything.”

“I know.” The angels voice was almost a whisper. “So do I. All else aside, I just wanted to fix what I could.” Before I fuck it all up with this plan. Cas turned to walk away.

“There's one more thing you could do for me.”

Castiel did as Dean requested, against his better judgement, but he understood why Dean wanted it this way. He erased all the memories of Dean, of Sam, of Hunters, and all the things that go bump in the night from both her and Ben’s mind. It would be easier for them now, easier to cope, to move on. He wished he could erase Dean’s memory of all of this. 

But that was not an option, and Castiel had much more important things to do. The final piece of the jigsaw puzzle that was Purgatory was laid out right in front of them, and he needed to pick up that piece as soon as possible.

***

Bobby had been easy to follow. Didn’t they know he was an angel? Did they forget, conveniently? 

The minute he laid eyes on ‘Eleanor Visyak’ he knew she was what he was looking for. Although ‘she’ was perhaps the wrong term. The black, swirling mess of Purgatory hung around her like an unholy aura. 

He watched as she blipped her car open with the remote fob, stalking close. Yes. She would help them find the way. She was not Eve - not by a long shot - but she was better… more controllable. Where Eve had been overpowering and intractable, the darkness around this Visyak was lesser. Bolstered by the souls from Hell, Cas knew that he had the upper hand. 

She saw him just before he reached her, reflected in the window of her car, but as she turned he simply put his hand on her shoulder and took her _away_.

Away to Crowley.

This time they were not going to fuck it up.

***

Cas arrived in Crowley’s laboratory with his hand still on the woman-shaped monster. It was empty, currently, because they had exhausted all other leads. Well. ‘Empty’. There was nothing still _alive_ here, but the gutted corpse of Eve in one corner and the now-defunct Vampire which was rotting slowly away. He could smell the enzymes - the decay - like a horrible, clinging rotten-sweetness and it was overpowering to his vessel’s senses. He was sure Crowley left the smell as an intimidation, because the demon was so fastidious that he would not want that stench around unless it was absolutely essential.

“Oh, _Cas_ \- is this for me? Did you bring me a present?”

For once, the demon’s eyes glittered happily, and Cas wished it was for another reason. However, happy Crowley was still something better than shouting Crowley, and if he had to deliver a denizen of Purgatory to do it?

“Yes. This one is from the other side.”

Visyak - or the thing wearing her - took a step to the side, glancing between them. “Angel and a demon, huh? When Bobby warned me, I never--”

“Did I ask for your opinion, sweetheart?” Crowley growled, stalking in close and grabbing hold of her face. “We didn’t bring you here to play Tea Parties.”

“I won’t help you open Purgatory.”

Cas could hear she was trying to sound brave, but there was an undercurrent of worry in her tone. It was there in the slight tremolo in her tone, and he could hear how her breathing was rapid and shallow, how her heart pounded in her ribcage. Old she might be - and he could _smell_ the years on her - but he was older.

“Oh, you will. You will, my pretty little thing…” Crowley turned her face this way and that, examining the vessel - _meatsuit_ \- she had possessed. “What _are_ you?”

“That is none of your business.”

“Oh, I think you’ll find it is. See, I’m the King of Hell. And this, here?” Crowley cocked his head to the angel standing by the doorway. “This guy’s gonna be the Big Cheese in the Giant Fondue Set in the Sky. Or should I say the Breadstick, with all the gooey goodness dripping off of him? Hmm. Now we just need a few moments of your time, and then you can be on your way doing whatever it is you do…”

“I know who you are, and I am not going to help you. The door is closed for a reason. Did you see what came through the last time?”

“Oh, you mean _Mater Familias_ here?” Crowley let go of her face at last, and gestured to the still-preserved corpse of Eve. “Been there. Done that. Had my hand in her guts and played her entrails like a violin.”

“But you still need me,” Visyak pointed out. 

“You’re right, ducky. We do need you. But we can make this easy on you - in which case you are free to go on your merry way, and--”

“Don’t lie,” she snapped. “I’m not getting out of here alive.”

“Oh, that all depends…” He paced around her like a shark circling prey. 

Cas watched with interest. Crowley was clearly feeling more like himself, again. He’d hoped that this offering would go some way to mending their broken relationship, and he was pleased to see the change in the demon’s demeanour. Crowley with a toy was Crowley happy.

“I know your type,” Visyak said, head held high. “There is nothing you can do to frighten me. You know where I come from.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He snapped his fingers and an empty - though _filthy_ \- contraption wheeled forwards. It was similar to the one the Vampire had expired in, and it hadn’t been cleaned from the last inhabitant. Black, filthy blood stained the metal. The leather bindings reeked of piss and terror. Whatever had died in there had been in it a long time, first. 

“...I’ve had a bit of practice, you know,” Crowley went on. “Tortured all sorts of Eve’s precious little children. You know she couldn’t take me down, don’t you? So what hope do _you_ have?”

Cas knew that Crowley wanted his help. He always did. Crowley was smiling at her in that oh-so-deadly way he had that the angel should _not_ find attractive, and somehow… did. He flapped close and grabbed Visyak by the throat, slamming her into the body cage. He held her still with that hand as his magic worked to tighten the leather around her. First the belts snaked around her thighs - pulling them slightly apart - and then two more went under her armpits and forced her hands above her head. Next he bound her hands to the top of the contraption, spreading her wide open. He could see the flicker in her eyes again. The _worry_. He checked the bonds were tight and stood back.

Visyak remained stubbornly silent, for all her eyes were black with fear, her nostrils flaring on each breath. 

Crowley wandered over to the little surgical table he kept his instruments on. Silver, iron, iridium, holy-water blessed scalpels and lamb’s blood-dipped knives. There were so many things they’d found, so many things he could try. His fingers danced in the air above the instruments, trying to decide which club to use on the green. “What do you think, kitten? What should I use first?”

_Kitten_. It had been a while since the demon had called him that. It had once been irritating and demeaning, like Crowley thought of him as some small, helpless creature. But it had been… it had been _his name_. Dean had called him ‘Cas’, and it had stuck, but no one had ever… ever given him a name that was theirs only to use. 

“Silver,” he suggested.

“Good choice, my feathered friend…”

Crowley picked up the ivory-handled knife and twirled it expertly between his finger and thumb. He was all about the artistry, in moments like this, and his actions were living poetry. Cas watched as the blade caught the light perfectly, and then - in one sudden movement - the blade was in the air one moment, the next it was buried to the hilt in her hip. He had to admire the precision. Right there, it missed any vital organs… but was close enough to them that she must be freaking out. The monster screamed in agony, fighting against the bonds.

“Well, darling, is your tongue feeling any looser?”

“ _Go.. fuck… yourself…_ ”

He twisted the knife back and forth, leaning in close. “Oh, my precious little thing, I don’t need to do that.”

“Maybe you… should… anyway…”

“I’ve got better things to do with my time. Now... you know I’m going to get the information out of you, so why don’t you tell me now? Save us both the time and effort and pain?”

“You? Pain?” Visyak laughed, her eyes shutting so he couldn’t see the anguish in them. “I’m not… going to let you… destroy the world…”

“Destroy it?” Crowley picked up the scalpel, next, making it dance between his fingers. “Quite the opposite. We’re _saving_ it from the _Apocalypse_.”

He ran his hand under her shirt, tugging it loose, baring her stomach. Cas watched as she tensed - guarding it - and though he couldn’t see, from the flicks of Crowley’s wrist he was snicking over the soft, squishy flesh there. 

“You… idiots… don’t you know what you - AH - are doing?!”

“Yes. Yes, we do. You see Cas, here? He went toe to toe with two archangels. And you know what? _God brought him back_. If that isn’t the divine seal of approval…”

“You’re insane!”

“No… we’re the only two sane beings still left on the chessboard, my girl.”

Cas watched as Crowley worked her over, and over, and over. He watched as the demon whittled her down by degrees, switching between blades and blunt objects and heat and pressure… she was tough, he had to admit. She grew increasingly withdrawn and quiet, and Crowley - for all he was chipper and cheerful on the surface - was beginning to get tired of it. 

It had gone on long enough. Cas could wait forever if he had to, but Heaven couldn’t, and the Winchesters would be hunting them down with equal determination. Enough was enough.

He was silent as he paced closer, and when he got close enough he simply laid a hand on the demon’s shoulder. Crowley looked up in surprise, but they held a conversation using only their eyes… and then the demon nodded. “I hope you’re ready for this, Doctor… if you think Hell is bad, you’ve never met Heaven’s fury…”

Cas waited for Crowley to step to one side, and then he stood in close, head canted, examining her. He watched her face intently - memorising the little jumps in the muscles of her face, the way her tongue poked out… 

He said nothing, but he let the souls within him swirl up. Behind him his wings cast a silhouette, illuminated by the divine glow of Grace. He lifted his hand and pressed it palm-flat to her stomach, allowing just a little of his power to course through his fingers and over her skin.

“He could smite you, you know. Could burn the darkness right out of you,” Crowley said, watching with the same interest Cas had shown. 

On cue, the angel let his Grace burn brighter, let the light of Heaven sear over her flesh. Inside, he could feel the creature wrapped around the frame recoiling in agony… and it only made him press _harder_.

“I… I won’t… I…”

Cas shoved his fist right inside of her, his fingers finding the blackened, broken, _inhuman_ spark of her soul. He **tugged** at it, drawing power into himself. It felt… it felt… _good_.

Visyak was screaming, now. Screaming and bucking and fighting. Cas was barely aware of that, because the energy inside her was _so much more_ than a human. Bobby had been bright and glorious and righteous, but this? This was sheer _power_. He pulled more and more of her into himself, feeling it get easier by the moment. He was smiling. Smiling.

He didn’t even hear her screaming out that they needed blood - hers and pure, untouched blood - didn’t hear that the words would work on an eclipse alone… he was so lost in the moment, that it was only when the demon’s hand tugged him insistently back that he looked down.

“We have it, Cas. You can stop now.”

Cas didn’t want to. He wanted to keep pulling.

“Cas. **Cas**. Stop. I said stop.”

He pulled his hand from inside of her in a hurry, stepping back. His heart was pounding in his vessel’s ribcage, and everything was… _sparkling_.

“Get me a jar,” Crowley said. 

Cas was struck dumb and still for a moment more, before the words made sense and he did.

“Now we just need one more thing… and time. Handle the good Doctor, and I will sort out the rest.”

Cas nodded.

They… were ready.


	29. Chapter 29

The angel took the broken monster back, as promised. There was not much of her left, but he and Crowley were creatures of their word. It was also, on some level, a message. A calling card for the Winchesters and Singer. _This is happening_.

That done, he flew back to see Crowley. He wasn’t wholly sure why, but he had to see him again. Had to… talk. It was a talk that was long overdue.

Half of the demon expected the angel to only show up the night of the eclipse… the other half desperately hoped Castiel would show before then and maybe things could get back to the way they were before his outburst.

So when the angel _did_ appear, Crowley couldn’t help but smile - well… he would’ve smiled had he not been so intent on trying not to seem like some crushed teenager that just got dumped the night before prom.

“Castiel… the Prodigal Son returns, eh?”

The angel narrowed his eyes. So they were back to that, were they? Castiel had single-handedly found their best lead ever, brought her in, and broken her… and Crowley was still snarking at him?

“I was never ‘gone’, Crowley.”

The demon shrugged. “Ah, well.” Might as well have been. “I trust you dropped off the package okay, then?”

“I did.”

“Well, aren’t you just a ball of information,” he sighed. “Are we gonna talk about this or not?”

“What would you like to talk about, Crowley? Would you like detailed information about where I left the monster to die?”

“I assume it was the place we discussed, no? Besides, angel, you know full well I’m not talking about _that_. I’m talking about the elephant in the room…” he raised his eyebrows to see if Cas understood what he meant.

“I do not see an elephant, Crowley. I see a demon, a dead Vampire, and the Mother of All.”

“Fine. I’ll play it your way. Let’s talk about the demon… and the angel… and the fuck up the other day.”

Cas’ lips pressed together tightly. What did Crowley want him to say? What, precisely, could they say? It was clear that this was something other than what he’d wanted. It was clear they had muddied their working relationship, and that Castiel had been wanting things that he couldn’t have. It was all so patently clear that it hurt.

“You were… rather… open about your assessment of the situation the other day,” Cas threw at him. “I understand what this is, now.”

“Do you? Do you, Cas?” Crowley took a few steps closer to the angel, still keeping his distance… just in case this went in a bad direction. “Is that what you think? _Honestly?_ You think that’s how little I think of you? Of **this**.” His finger flicked between the two of them quickly.

Too close. Crowley was too close, and the angel felt his cheeks heat up in response, in memory. In longing. His tongue stole out over his lips, swiping at the sweat there. Why was he sweating?

“Crowley… I know this was just… a _transaction_ to you. You think I have bought your services with my… time. You think I am just… you think I am for _sale_.” You called me a **whore**.

“I see…” The King of Hell narrowed his eyes, tongue pushing his bottom lip out. “You know, do you? So sure of yourself, kitten…” He took a couple of steps away, pacing slowly.

Had he been wrong in assuming Castiel shared the feelings that he did? That the angel was capable of loving a monster like him? Apparently so… 

“I never, _never_ thought of you in that way. I may have called you by some… unpleasant names, but I thought you knew me well enough to know that it was in no way reflective of my actual opinion of you…” He stopped, hands in his pockets, staring at a crack in the floor before looking back up to meet the angel’s gaze. “--I’m sorry.”

S-sorry?

Crowley - Crowley said - he - 

The seraph tilted his head to one side, scrutinizing the demon. He looked… contrite. He looked… sincere. He looked… sorry. Cas swallowed against something caught in his vessel’s throat, unable to look away though his whole vessel _burned_ with something that felt like pain and shame and glee and sorrow and fear all in one go. _Sorry_.

What had Balthazar said? That Crowley - the **Devil** \- would offer him what he most wanted, would say the things he wanted to hear. Well. ‘Sorry’ apparently was what he wanted to hear.

Was it real? Did Crowley really…? 

“It… was… a deal. To begin with.” There was no two ways around that. “But it was not… later. For me.” No, it was not. It was so very, very much more. “I thought… that was… clear.”

Cas was not going to make this easy for him, was he? Of course he wasn’t. That wasn’t the angel’s way. 

“Cas… it was just--” he stopped himself. Just what? Just words? Really Crowley? Words were the demon’s greatest weapon. He knew how to twist them, to manipulate them, to make it so he could cause someone to _break_. Words were just as important, if not more so, than physical weapons. Crowley knew that. So what then? He didn’t intend to hurt the angel… but he had. With the one weapon he couldn’t just place his hand over and heal the gaping wound left in its wake.

“I… I panicked okay?”

Cas laughed aloud, and he was startled by the noise that came from his vessel when he did. _Crowley_ panicked? Crowley? King of Hell? Suave, together, smooth operator? **Panicked**? What did he expect Castiel to do, in that circumstance? What?

“You…” No. Stop. Try again. “I…” Damnit. He just could not make the words that would fix things come out. He could not. He did not know how to say the things, even though he should. He did not know… 

“This… _us_... it… it means something, Crowley. I… do not know what, or how, or why, but… it does. _You_ do.” To me. He was running his thumbs over the tips of his fingers, fighting the urge to pace. “The deal - Purgatory - it is a means to an end.” But not you. You are not a means to an end. No… souls or not, Cas knew he… wanted Crowley. He just wasn’t sure how they could really make it work. But he wanted to. Oh, he wanted to. “You… your opinion of me… matters. I… want to… I would like to… continue.”

It was, perhaps, the worst confession of feelings since a Montague and a Capulet had accidentally both ended up dead. Castiel was laughing at himself inside of his head. How could Crowley possibly want to remain with him, when he couldn’t even say: _I love you_.

Crowley smiled - _really_ smiled - the biggest smile since… well, since he could remember.

"Angel..." a soft chuckle. "That's why I call you that so often. It's how I see you. I should clarify: not in the sense of some sort of absolute weapon, but in the way humans view angels. Saviours from up above. Guardians... someone who shows up when you're lost, when you're hurt, when you're at your absolute weakest point and you _need_ them. Usually one doesn't know just how much you need them until they're there - or worse - they've gone. But while they're there, they hold you close, wrap their wings around you, keep you tucked in their safe little cocoon.” 

“Most importantly,” he went on, “they show love to those who think they're undeserving or not good enough... not worthy because of what they are - what they've done. But the angels just love them. So you see, Cas - _angel_ \- that's the farthest thing from a whore. It was wrong of me to say that. And I'm truly sorry my tongue slipped."

Cas was sure his heart broke. He wasn't even sure he'd had one, before, but now he did and it was in pieces.

Head to one side, he smiled in a happy-but-hurting way. Love? Truly? Of course Cas would be loved by something as shattered as the King of Hell. Who else could love something like him?

"I think," he said, "you are the only one who thinks that of me. That I am what you say I am." With a breath he took in and did not let out, he stepped in close. He stared at Crowley; this beautiful creature who made him hurt in ways no one else could. "But if you will let me, my King, I will love you."

He crooked a finger under the demon's chin, lifting his lips towards his own. "May I kiss you?" he whispered, pulling his wings carefully out, stroking feather-light over his sides.

Crowley was beaming again. "My angel, yes of course... will you let me love you in return?"

The wings on his side sent shivers up and down his spine. " _Please_."

There should probably be more words, right now. More words like ‘yes’ and ‘please’ and ‘always’. Words that had been missing for so long, silent between their kisses… but Cas was sure if he tried to speak, that it would fail. That he would somehow say the wrong thing. That this perfect, beautiful moment would shatter. He didn’t want that. He wanted it to go on, and on, and on forever.

His lips were just a hair’s breadth from the demon’s, but he couldn’t - if he - if he did this, if he kissed him, then it would be the start of the end of the moment and Cas wanted to hover like this, dangling over the edge of happiness forever. He could feel Crowley’s breath on his face. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. The words rose up inside, but never broke past his teeth. They stomped all over his heart, like hot rain falling on the treetops. No. _Yes_. Head tilted, Cas pressed his lips tenderly to Crowley’s, breathing him oh-so-slowly in. His wings caressed the demon’s flanks, his arms, his thighs… slowly moving to swallow him up whole. **Mine**.

The angel kissed like he should have done before. Instead of stolen, angry kisses or sloppy, lazy kisses… he kissed with the rising, burning ache in his Grace. He dragged his tongue against the demon’s mouth - requesting access - and slipped inside to write his name over the inner labyrinth of his body. His fingers lightly touching the demon’s temple, his cheek… the other hand resting palm-flat on his heart. **I love you**.

Crowley was overwhelmed at the soft touches, the hand over his heart, the angel’s tongue in his mouth… the King of Hell reduced to an emotional wreck by an angel. He would’ve laughed if he weren’t so preoccupied in returning the kiss with just as much fervour as the angel had. He clutched at Cas’ coat, his neck, any and everything he could reach, as long as he was pulling him _closer_.

“Cas. Cas… wait, wait.” He pulled back just enough to speak from the kiss.

God damnit, Crowley, the Hell? Why was he pulling away from kisses? Didn’t he know kisses were better than _air_? The angel growled low and warning in his throat, but he nipped once at the demon’s mouth and pulled back so he could peer at him.

“What is it?”

Ten seconds ago, this was a good idea. Ten seconds ago, his words weren’t stuck in his throat. 

“I… Cas… angel.” Stalling wasn’t making it any easier to speak. He could’ve gone through the extensive list of nicknames he held for the angel alone and wasted some more time. “I love you.”

Cas’ brow knit in confusion. He did? Didn’t they - hadn’t they - wasn’t it - didn’t they both _know_? Had he not been… clear? He hadn’t said it - not aloud - but his heart had screamed it from deep inside his vessel, his Grace had _burned_ and glowed with it, and… his tongue had never formed the words.

He was suddenly aware they were still in Crowley’s laboratory. There were dead monsters around and the blood of their latest conquest still damp on the tools of their trade. Hardly the place for an angel to confess his love. 

No. Better elsewhere. He held onto the demon and flapped those raven-black wings of his, carrying them down to the room they often shared. _Their_ room? He supposed it was. That was better. It was Hell, but it was… home? 

Cas tried to say it. He tried really hard. It was not that he didn’t _feel_ it, but it was more that he was… struck dumb. But the demon had said it, and what did that say about him, if he could not?

“I love you too, my King,” he said, at length. The words were awkward, but true. And saying it aloud somehow… lifted something heavy on his heart. He smiled. “I love you.”

The angel didn’t seem too convinced of his own words at first, though Crowley couldn’t help but smile. And then Castiel was smiling and he said it again. 

“I love you,” he mumbled against the seraph’s lips. He was clutching at Cas again, pulling him close with a force that might’ve crushed a human. He just _needed_ him. He needed him closer, needed to feel his vessel pressed tightly against him. 

It was like a dam had broken, then. Like some long-buttressed wall holding back the flood had finally cracked. Cas just… _blazed_ with the feeling inside. He met force with force, pushing his mouth to the demon’s once more. His tongue battered into Crowley’s mouth, one hand grabbing at the demon’s tie and yanking it hard enough to choke him, his other hand scratching over his head and down his neck and between his shoulder blades on the way down to his ass, pushing Crowley as flush to him as he could. It was completely unacceptable for there to be _any_ distance, now. At all. Ever.

He walked Crowley backwards until his legs bumped the edge of the bed, toppling him backwards with an arch of his wings, kissing him all the way. A blink and those stupid clothes were gone, and he could feel the demon’s too-hot skin under his own. This was going too fast, but Cas couldn’t help himself. There was no way on God’s good Earth he was going to wait a moment longer.

Crowley pulled the angel down, close to him, fingers rustling over those wings gently, hands splayed trying to reach as much of the angel as possible. He nudged Castiel’s head to the side, kissing and nipping down the angel’s neck, mumbling apologies and I love yous. 

There was a rumbling purr from deep within Cas’ chest as the demon attacked his throat. He dropped his elbows either side of the demon’s head, his fingers pushing through the fine, soft hair that licked over his scalp. Crowley’s fingers scorched where they touched, scorched like they were leaving marks on his vessel that would never, ever fade: scars, but good ones. 

Cas hissed and bit down on Crowley’s ear, grinding against him, feeling their erections pressed together between them. It wasn’t just sex. It had not been ‘just sex’ for a long time, now, but at least now he could admit what it really was. “I said I wasn’t a whore,” he whispered, his voice barely-there, “but it was not true. I am. I am, for you. But it isn’t my body I have sold, Crowley. It’s something else entirely.” A shunt of his hips, whiting out his thoughts for a long, _long_ moment. _I would Fall for you_ , he thought. I would rip out Heaven, if it was the only way to stay. The prospect terrified him, but it was… it was true. For Crowley? He would do anything. It was what the Winchesters and Balthazar had been afraid of, after all.

Crowley’s fingers slid over the angel’s throat, across his collarbone and then down, palm splayed on the seraph’s chest. He traced a heart over the place where Cas’ own heart lay tucked under skin and bone of this vessel he wore. 

“Can’t be your soul, ducky… don’t have one of those… so what could it be?” he smirked up at his angel, legs wrapping around Castiel, keeping him close.

“You have to ask?” Cas let the smile slowly spread over his lips, like coffee rushing through filter-paper. “And no. I do not have a soul. I am an angel, remember… you ass?”

Those fingers on him were so damn right, and he let his hands play as they walked down from Crowley’s head, over his face, over his torso… finding the demon’s legs and settling behind his knees. He pulled gently but insistently, tugging Crowley closer to him. God, but he needed to be inside him so badly. But if he did? If he let himself enter him? He knew this would be over. He knew he’d not be able to _hold back_ , so he ran those hands over his lover’s stomach… and then wrapped one around his beautiful, beautiful cock. 

Crowley closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the mattress, humming happily under the angel’s touches. Everywhere his hands passed over seemed to be set on fire, the tips of the angel’s fingers like flames licking at his skin. He hissed, arching up into Cas’ hand. He never wanted to hurt the angel again, _never_. He’d have to be more careful with his words, though he figured the, ‘Fuck… Cas…’ that kept coming out of his mouth was fine - and apparently the only two words aside from ‘I love you’ that he knew at the moment.

The angel was almost laughing at that. Here was Crowley - eloquent in the extreme - the very _opposite_ to Castiel in so many ways… here was Crowley reduced to babbling such nice things. He decided he needed more of that. Decided he needed to keep stroking over his shaft with precision and care, chasing every little flicker that played out over the demon’s expressive face. The way his lips thinned, or his tongue showed, or his eyelashes fluttered… Cas was _so_ owned, it was embarrassing. “I love you,” he purred, twisting his hand on the down-stroke. “I love you, you foolish demon. I do. I’m yours, Crowley. I’m only yours.”

“Oh, Cas,” he breathed. “I love you, too… so very much. And you I am yours and yours alone as well, angel.”

Crowley’s hands trailed down the seraph’s belly, clumsily reaching for his cock so he could wrap his hands around it, make him breathe a little more heavily, and get him to make those little noises that Crowley loved to hear. The tiny whimpers, the hitched breaths… all of which now belonged to the King of Hell. They were _his_ noises coming from _his_ angel. He could not have been more pleased. In return for these things, he would give Castiel all of him, forever. 

“I love you, Castiel.”

Oh no. No, no, no. Cas wasn’t going to be able to concentrate if the demon did _that_. Didn’t the King realise the angel’s grasp on reality was thinning? He hissed in a breath and pushed his face into the pillow beside the demon’s head to try and keep his head from swimming too much. _No_. 

**Yes**.

“Crowley,” he choked out, turning his face from the mouth full of bedding. “I… I can’t if you…” Fuck. Fucking… He grabbed the demon’s hand and pulled it away, slamming it down onto the bed. Then with his other hand, he grabbed both of their dicks in one and stroked over them both. Oh god. That was the ~~worst~~ best idea he’d ever had.

The demon whimpered at the hand batted away, but that whimper changed to a moan when he started doing _that_. Damn, it felt good. Were he able to speak, he’d have asked him where he got **that** idea from. His hips bucked harder, their cocks sliding against one another _and_ the angel’s hand wrapped around them both was almost too much. He craned his neck to look, watching only intensified the feelings. 

He let his head fall back against the mattress once more, moaning the angel’s name.

This was not how he’d imagined things going, but… why not? They were _equal_ , after all. They were in this together. He moved his hand clutching at Crowley’s, lacing their fingers together and pressing it firmly into the mattress. He kept staring at the demon’s face, captivated by what he saw there. He just wanted to make him _happy_. Wanted to keep that smile there, on his lips and in his eyes. In his voice. 

“Tell me not to do this,” he whispered, “and I won’t. Ask me anything, Crowley… _anything_ , or I… or I will…”

“Please don’t stop what you’re doing…” Crowley begged. “Why would you… no, Cas. Unless you don’t like it?”

Don’t like it? Rich laughter bubbled out from his throat, and Cas pecked at the demon’s lips with his own. “Don’t like it?” he echoed. “Crowley… I _love it_. I just…” Want to make sure you do, too.

“Then don’t stop, love. Don’t stop.” He leaned his head forward, pressing their lips together again for slow, deep kisses.

Cas parted his lips to let the demon kiss him as his hand worked faster. It was too much to ask for him to move and think and feel all at once. He could manage two alone, and right now _moving_ and _feeling_ were the only things he was capable of. He sucked furiously at the demon’s tongue, drawing it in as his hand moved faster, more erratically. It wasn’t polished, and it wasn’t pretty, but he just needed **friction** , and to feel his King explode the same way his chest and dick both were screaming to. It was ridiculous, but it was… right. The hand holding Crowley’s lifted, then slammed down again - _hard_.

The demon moaned, his tongue held captive in the angel’s mouth. His back arched up and his toes curled at the erratic strokes. His own breathing was becoming more and more ragged. 

“Cas, I…” he tried to speak, but the words melted into a moan. He squeezed the angel’s hand tightly. “Cas, I’m gonna come,” he managed to whisper just before he did, shuddering bone-deep, coating the angel’s hand with his seed.

Castiel made the most ridiculous noise of glee at that. He felt so insanely _proud_ of himself, like he’d managed something impossible. He had, hadn’t he? He’d managed to make the King of Hell fall in love with him, and he with the demon. He’d made it _work_ , despite Heaven and Earth. And he’d made Crowley **happy**. He blurted out that victory-note again, then kissed Crowley’s face and throat all over, kissed until the sticky, messy feeling of Crowley’s spunk and the silky-soft shaft against his own were just _too much_ and he gasped out the demon’s name like a prayer to his Father, like it was the only word he could remember, as he jacked himself into completion between them. Yes. Oh god, yes.

He didn’t wait for an answer, finding Crowley’s other hand with the one streaked with both their come, and tangling those together, too. Unable to hold himself up any more, he used his knees to take most of his weight, settling onto the demon’s chest and kissing him like the world would end if he didn’t. _It very well might._

Crowley loved the feel of the angel’s weight on him: heavy, reassuring, protective. He kissed him back with as much passion as he could muster. His teeth scraped over lips, his tongue fought for control with the angel’s. 

“I love you so much, Castiel… so much.” He felt like he was just repeating it over and over, but he couldn’t say it enough.

“This can’t be wrong,” Cas blurted out, “because… it cannot, Crowley. How could love be wrong?” His hands held tighter. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realise. Will you ever forgive me?”

“ _Me_ forgive _you_? Sweetheart, I think you’ve got it backwards. So you didn’t realise it sooner? No big deal… I used words as a weapon and I hurt you. Will _you_ ever forgive _me_?”

But you are a demon, Cas wanted to say. I should have known better. But why? Castiel had never loved - not before - but Crowley? Crowley may well have. Even now the knowledge stung. Had he loved, before? Would he love someone else? Cas wasn’t sure he was even _capable_ of loving anyone else. He was old - older than the countryside, older than the oceans - but until he’d met the smart-mouthed King of Hell, the thought had never occurred to him.

“Of course I forgive you,” he said instead, which was utterly true. “You know I… you know I would not. With anyone but you.”

“You talking about sex, Cas?” Crowley smirked. “If you are, then you should know, nor would I. I am all yours - _only_ yours. You have my word.”

“This… is… not that, to me, demon. Not any more.” Cas realised he was still pinning the demon down, and he tangled their legs together so he could roll onto his side, pulling Crowley with him. The hand underneath went up to prop his head, but the other stayed knotted with the demon’s. He used his wing to stroke the sweat-slick skin, tickling over his spine. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

Crowley grinned at the wing drifting along his spine. “You see right through me, angel. Of course I did. If we’re having one of those Lifetime Movie moments where we’re baring our souls - or rather _would be_ if we had any - I might as well confess something…”

Crowley looked down, averting his eyes for a moment from the angel’s. “If we’re being open… you should know… I’m absolutely terrified of… _this_. Of love…”

“Well,” Cas said, with a little smirk, “you are particularly transparent, Crowley.” It was a lame-ass joke, and he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself.

Although… “I am, too,” he admitted, swallowing. “I have… never. Before. I don’t really know… how. Or why. Or what. Or anything… I just… know I feel it, and it’s… more important than anything else. Except, perhaps, saving the world.” But only then because if he didn’t, there’d be no more _them_.

Crowley had to agree with him… saving the world was most certainly on the priority list. “If the world ended, I suppose we’d just end up in Purgatory together for eternity… unless Purgatory ended, too. Hmm. You pose an interesting theoretical question. As for the whole love thing… don’t worry, it’s new for me, too. I thought - a very, very long time ago - that I had loved someone… looking back now, I see it was nowhere near love. It was nowhere near _this_ \- **you**. You are the only one I have ever truly loved, Cas. And to be honest, I didn’t even know I was capable of it.”

The angel snorted. It was not as if he was particularly ‘lovable’. He didn’t understand half the world had to throw at him, he was proud, and he was intractable. But Crowley saw something other people didn’t. “I am glad you came to me,” he admitted. “I would never have come to you, which is a gross error in judgement. You are… not like other demons, you know?” He lifted their hands, and kissed at Crowley’s knuckles. “It would be best that we do not see if Purgatory remains after the Apocalypse. We are so close, now. So close to finishing this plan and saving everything.”

“So I have been told,” he sighed, smiling at the soft kisses. “Just a matter of wasting time until tomorrow night, I guess… Castiel… will you stay with me until then?”

It broke the angel’s heart all over that Crowley even had to ask, but he deserved it. He deserved that question, that knife-wound to the chest. His smile was slightly sad. “I will always stay, if I can, Crowley. If you will have me.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, my love.”

_My love_. Cas felt everything inside ache all over again. Was this how love felt? So painful, but a pain you couldn’t walk away from, a hurt you didn’t want to stop? A wound you wanted to push your fingers inside? 

“In that case…” a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “...there is a long time left for me to love my King. And my King needs that love, doesn’t he?”

“More than you could ever imagine, angel.” He moved forward, trying to meet those lips again.

Cas smiled into the kiss, his eyes closed. He might not be very good at this whole ‘love’ thing, but they were both immortal, so he probably had time to learn. “Then I will give it to you. Every day.” Until you don’t want me to any more. “Demon.”

But it was an affectionate term, now, not an insult. And unspoken, but there in his tone, was the word ‘my’.


	30. Chapter 30

“The demon I could've handled, but when the angel stepped in, I--” Visyak sighed. “I told him, Bobby. They have enough to crack Purgatory wide open.”

“Tell me. I need to know.”

“They need virgin blood… that's a milk-run for them. And they need the blood of a Purgatory native, and well, they've got plenty of that now.”

“Have they opened it yet?”

The doctor shook her head. “Tomorrow. The moon - an eclipse. I'm sorry, Bobby.”

“No, it's okay. It's okay.”

“I'm sorry, really sorr--”

“Tell us where they are… El?”

The Hunter ran his hand over her eyes, closing them. 

Castiel watched with some remorse, behind Sam and Dean. “I'm sorry this had to happen,” he said, calmly. “Crowley got carried away.”

“Yeah, I bet it was all Crowley you son of a bitch!” Bobby was up and swinging for him, but the younger Hunters held him back.

Cas took a step away. Bobby was right, of course, but it was semantics. Visyak had been a monster, and this was for the greater good.

“You don't even see it, do you?” Dean spat at the angel. “How totally off the rails you are!”

“Enough! I don't care what you think. I've tried to make you understand. You won't listen, so let me make this simple. Please: go home and let me stop Raphael. I won't ask again.”

“Well, good, 'cause I think you already know the answer,” Dean huffed.

“I wish it hadn't come to this.” Cas shook his head sadly. “Well, rest assured, when this is all over I will save Sam, but only if you stand down.”

“Save Sam from what?”

Cas flapped - appearing behind Sam, his fingers up to the younger Hunter’s temple. The wall Death had left was only fragile, and Castiel knew some of what lay beneath from his time in the Cage. It was a matter of moments and the fine damn crumbled. 

***

Cas sat in the laboratory, waiting for the demon. Everything was in place. The Winchesters were successfully reined in - for now - the spell was ready, the ingredients were ready, and it was simply a matter of waiting for the moon to vanish so they could perform the ritual.

He’d asked for a sign. He’d prayed to God. At first he thought it might have come in the form of Balthazar or Dean, begging him to stop. But Dean had wanted none of this, and Balthazar had wanted him to take all of the souls. The two were completely incompatible with one another.

The angel had thought it through. All of the souls would be better than half, of course, but he could win with only half. All the power going to _Heaven_ would be good, but again… if equal went up and down, then it was… balanced. Fair. He was not giving anything more to the demon - on the whole, when all was said and done - and…

The demon strolled in, jar of blood in hand. “Your Purgatory power-shake, Monsieur.” He handed it to the angel with a smile. “Half monster, half virgin.”

“Thank you,” Cas said, taking the offered jar.

Give me a sign, he’d said. Give me a sign, and the demon had said… sorry. Had said… I love you. His fingers ran over the jar. He could see how it would go. He could see how he would say: ‘I’m renegotiating our terms’, and everything would fall apart. The words were there, on another angel’s lips. He could feel them in his throat, could taste how they would sound.

“...thank you,” he said again, instead, and rose to his feet. He offered a quiet little smile to the demon. “It is not much longer to wait, now. Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he grinned. “Feel like doing some finger painting, then?”

Cas held the jar back out to him. “This was your idea - your brainchild - why don’t you do the honours, and I will cast the spell?”

“I _do_ appreciate fine art.” Crowley stepped towards the wall and began painting the sigil on the wall. It was finally happening. Years of hard work, **finally** paying off. He was more than excited. The new God and the new Devil. He could barely contain himself as he turned to face his angel after completing his art work. He stepped back to admire it, then looked to Cas. Partners. Castiel smiled back.

The King of Hell looked at the high windows of the lab, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. “Not terribly much longer until the planets align, but still about an hour, maybe?”

“We should--”

Cas put his hand to his ear. There was a horrible, high-pitched squeak. _Balthazar_. He looked at Crowley, worried. It sounded… urgent. It might be nothing, but it might… it might be…?

“Is that about Raphael, you think? You should go - just hurry back. No more than one hour, Cas.”

“Alright,” he agreed. “I will be back as soon as I can.”

***

“Balthazar.” Cas stared at the other angel, wondering why he’d called.

“Sweetie… I just… wanted to see how things were going.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine.”

“Well, I’m glad that--”

“Why did you call me, Balthazar?”

“I was just… checking in on you. You know. Seeing how things are--”

“I know you spoke with the Winchesters again.” He did. All he had to do was _listen_ to their plans. He could **smell** Dean on the angel, much like Crowley claimed he’d been able to. Was this how the demon had felt? Betrayed.

“Well, they called me for a pow-wow, and I know you’re their bosom buddies, so it seemed--”

“You have betrayed me.” He said it simply, head to one side, waiting for the response.

“Me? Never, mate, never. Wouldn’t dream of such a thing. Not when you’re the only one standing between us and Raph--”

Castiel jumped closer. He had his blade out and under Balthazar’s throat. “You have betrayed me,” he repeated. “This is my war. This is my plan. First Sam and Dean, and now this. I'm doing my best in impossible circumstances. When my friends abandon me, plot against me… it's difficult to understand.”

“Now, listen here, Cassie, you’ve got me all wrong, I just--”

“ _No_.” The blade dug deeper. “I have given too much. I have sacrificed too much. You - of all people - I trusted _you_ would understand I was only doing what was necessary. What I **must**.”

Balthazar swallowed. “But Cas… Crowley?”

“He keeps his deals. I have him under control. You will _not_ stand in my way again, or I **will** end you.”

And Cas was gone.

***

“The Winchesters are coming,” Cas said, when he arrived again. “We must start the ritual.”

“Lovely. Alright, here.” Crowley reached into his pocket and took out the paper with the spell on it, handing it to Castiel with a smile.

Cas nodded, folding the paper out and turning to face the sigil Crowley had drawn in place. He started to intone the Latin words written down.

“ _Ianua Magna Purgatorii_  
 _Clausa Est Ob Nos_  
 _Lumine Eius Ab Oculis_  
 _Nostris Retento_...”

Crowley turned his head towards the metal door slamming against the wall to see - who else - Dean Winchester and Bobby Singer looking surprised as ever.

“You two will get the Hell out of here if you know what’s best for you!” the demon yelled as the two Hunters ran down the stairs and charged towards them.

Of course, they ignored him.

“And let you destroy the world?” Dean snarled.

“Have it your way, then.” 

With a flick of the demon’s wrists, both Hunters were held in place by his magic a couple of feet off the ground. For good measure, he silenced them, too. Then he turned back to face the sigil after another quick hand motion to shut the bloody door they left open. Rude.

Cas knew that Crowley could handle the two. He’d warned them. He’d _warned them_. But of course, they wouldn’t listen. He thought they deserved anything Crowley did to them, and he was… somewhat relieved when the demon didn’t explode them outright. On went the incantation, the sigil glowing around the lines, reality starting to warp as the barrier between the worlds thinned.

“ _Sed Nunc Stamus Ad Limen Huius_   
_Ianuae Magnae Et Demisse_   
_Fideliter Perhonorifice_   
_Paramus Aperire Eam_...”

Crowley felt it the moment Raphael arrived. He froze, eyes turning towards the archangel. “Fancy meeting you here.” The demon hoped that the overwhelming fear taking over in his mind was not visible on the outside, because Raphael? Was bloody intimidating.

“Stand down, demon, this is between Castiel and myself.”

Cas could feel Raphael - of course he could - the power rolling from the older being was palpable. He knew he didn’t have long, but he couldn’t face off against him - not yet - and he struggled to make his tongue voice the last words of the spell, knowing the longer he delayed the more likely… the more chance… 

“ _Creaturae Terrificae Quarum Ungulae_  
 _Et Dentes Nunquam Tetigerunt_   
_Carnem Humanam Aperit Fauces_   
_Eius Ad Mundum Nostrum Nunc_   
_Ianua Magna..._ ”

Raphael looked like he was ready to smite them all, a smug look on his face. Didn’t he know they were almost done? Crowley’s body finally allowed him to move, angel blade in his hand, ready to strike down the archangel - hah - _try_ to anyway. 

“Cas, **hurry!** PLEASE!” he pleaded, knowing they were right at the end. He was struggling to keep Dean and Bobby on the wall and keep a sharp eye on Raphael. The archangel was in front of the demon in a split second. 

“Do you really think the two of you will succeed against _me_?”

“Hello, King of Hell…” he smirked as though his very life was _not_ in immediate danger of ending.

“Not for much longer,” Raphael said, lifting her hand and placing it on the demon’s forehead.

Crowley closed his eyes, panic freezing him to the spot. This was it. This was how he died. This… would be his swan song. He just hoped, with his last thought, that hopefully he’d bought Cas enough time, after all.

“ _Aperta Tandem!_ ” 

Cas yelled out the end of the spell, and the door opened with a _whoosh_. He stood for as long as he could dare, feeling the **light** and the **_strength_** pour into him, filling up the spaces, sliding into his vessel alongside his Grace. He turned on his heel - a hand on the demon’s shoulder, bolstering him and radiating _light_ more powerful than the archangel’s, stopping the destruction that she was about to bring down upon his King.

**No**. The demon was _his_. Raphael was not going to destroy him. Not now, not ever.

Raphael’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but then she looked up at Castiel… and she knew.

“ _Crowley is mine_ ,” Cas snarled at her, pulling the demon away and throwing him behind - into the still-open conduit to Purgatory. He felt elated, he felt **high** , and he lifted one hand - finger and thumb - and snapped Raphael into a million, billion atoms. The angel blade in his hand fell to the ground, the only evidence she had ever been there.

Crowley was pushed into the stream of light coming from Purgatory and was bombarded with _power_. Sheer, pure - as pure as the evils of Purgatory could be, at least - **power**. He felt strong, he felt… invincible? Perhaps… perhaps he was? 

He could feel the souls swirling, mixing with his own smoke inside and it was intoxicating. The last of the escaping souls poured into the demon and he turned to see the mess that _used to be_ Raphael and he grinned. 

Cas snapped Bobby and Dean down to the floor, letting them fall without caring how they landed. He smiled. Raphael - or what once had been her vessel - coated the walls. He and Crowley were victorious.

“So you see,” he told Dean, with a benevolent smile, “I have won. Heaven is now mine. You doubted me, fought against me, but I was right all along.”

“Okay, Cas, you were. We're sorry… now let's just defuse you, okay?” Dean moved slowly. No sudden movements… that’s how it worked with wild animals, right? 

“What do you mean?” The angel narrowed his eyes, not happy with this reaction. Couldn’t Dean see? Couldn’t he see the glowing, wonderful thing that was happening inside of him? The _power_?

“You're full of nuke. It's not safe. So, before the eclipse ends, let's get them souls back to where they belong.” Dean gestured at the sigil on the wall, hoping beyond all hope that the angel would get rid of those things.

“Watch your mouth, Squirrel. Do you have **any** idea who the bloody Hell you’re talking to?” Crowley said, stalking forward.

“Crowley - enough.” Cas looked hurt, though. Hurt by Dean’s words, his tone, his lack of respect. “Dean, you are wrong. This is how it should be. Things will be much different, now. Better.” 

Dean backed up slightly, even though Cas called Crowley off. The demon narrowed his eyes at the oldest Winchester. 

“Don’t try anything cute.”

Dean gave Crowley a sarcastic smile before looking back at Cas. “Can’t you see how dangerous this is?”

“It is not dangerous, Dean. I am in complete control. You are much safer with me in Heaven than Michael or Raphael. I have your best interests at heart…”

“Cas. You listen to me - please! I know there's a lot of bad water under the bridge, but we were family once. I'd have died for you. I almost did, a few times. So if that means anything to you... Please. I've lost Lisa, I've lost Ben, and now I've lost Sam. Don't make me lose you too. You don't need this kind of juice anymore, Cas. Get rid of it before it kills us all.” Dean was pleading, his eyes starting to water.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “How drunk are you, Dean? This is _really_ maudlin and if I’m being honest, your sob story is boring me.”

The once-seraph, now-more put his hand on Crowley’s shoulder. It was warm, like he felt right now. Everything was so much… bigger. “I'm not finished yet. Raphael had many followers, and I must punish them all severely. And you are simply saying that, because I won. Because you are afraid…”

Behind them, Sam staggered in, as quietly as he could. He saw Raphael’s blade and bent to pick it up.

“You're not my family, Dean. Family… stands with you.” As Crowley had.

Behind them, Sam shoved the blade into Castiel. The angel tilted his head to one side, then looked at Crowley.

Crowley immediately removed the blade, grabbing Sam by the back of the neck and pushing the blade against the youngest Winchesters throat with a low growl.

“I'm glad you made it, Sam. But the angel blade won't work, because I'm not an angel anymore. I'm your new God. A better one. So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you.” He knew Crowley would not hurt Sam, without his permission. He knew with absolute clarity, suddenly, precisely what the world needed.

**Him**.

Crowley moved from Castiel’s warm hand, and pushed Sam back with a snarl. “On. Your. Knees. You heard him.”

The youngest Winchester staggered backwards over to where Dean and Bobby stood. Crowley raised his eyebrows impatiently. Bobby looked between Sam and Dean once more before lowering himself to his knees.

“Well, alright then. Is this good, or you want the whole ‘forehead to the carpet’ thing?” the eldest Hunter asked. He looked to the boys expectantly. “Guys?”

Reluctantly, Sam and Dean moved to kneel as well.

“Stop.” The _God_ looked… hurt. Annoyed. Betrayed. 

“What's the point if you don't mean it? You fear me. Not love, not respect, just fear.”

“Cas…” Sam started, looking up, worried. 

“Sam, you have nothing to say to me; you stabbed me in the back.” Like the traitor you are. They still did not see how he did this - all of this - for them? Because of them?

Castiel nodded to Bobby and Dean. “Get. Up.”

Dean was licking his lips. “Cas, come on, this isn't you.”

“The Castiel you knew is gone.”

It was true. He was no longer the angel, no longer the seraph… he was more. Better. Stronger. He was what the world needed. Why was the demon the only one to see? Why did they not love him, as Crowley did? He was radiant and brilliant, he was brave and smart, and he was _beautiful_. There was something **wrong** with these… lesser beings… if even a demon could see what they could not.

“So what, then? Kill us?” Dean’s voice was almost breaking. Castiel could hear the fine difference in the way the air pushed past his vocal chords. He could smell the adrenaline coursing through his system, feel the sparks of electrons in neurons. _He could feel it all._

“What a brave little ant you are. You know you're powerless, you wouldn't dare move against me again. That would be pointless. So I have no need to kill you…. not now. Besides… once you were my favourite pets before you turned and _bit me_.”

“Who _are_ you?” Dean said, looking at what used to be Cas with disgust. He glanced at Crowley briefly before turning his eyes back to the once-angel. 

“I'm God,” he said, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “And this is the new Devil. And if you stay in your place, you may live in my kingdom. If you rise up, I will strike you down.”

The new God turned to the younger brother. “Not doing so well, are you Sam?”

“I'm fine…” A rough noise, clearing his throat. “I'm… fine.”

“You are far from fine, Moose.” Crowley walked towards him, twirling the angel blade in the air. “I could take a look if you’d like,” he smirked, tapping the youngest Hunter’s head with the blade gently. “Or give you a hair cut, if you’d like.” 

Dean was horrified, starting to move to protect his brother, until the once-angel snapped his gaze to him.

“You said you would fix him - you promised!”

“ **If** you stood down, which you hardly did. Be thankful for my mercy. I could have cast you back into the pit.”

Sam was pulling away from Crowley as much as he could, his lips a thin line. He looked… terrible.

“Cas, come on, this is nuts! You can turn this around, please!” Dean begged. He looked to Crowley, eyes still pleading. Maybe Crowley could talk some sense into him?

“It’d be wise of you to stop begging, sweetheart.” He pointed the angel blade at Dean threateningly.

“I hope for your sake this is the last you see me,” Cas said, sounding… sad. He turned to the demon, instead. Crowley was the only one who understood. Who could _see_.

“Come,” he said to the new Devil. “We have work to do.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel flew them straight back to Hell. Straight back to their _room_. Crowley could not enter Heaven, but Castiel could enter Hell. The garden could wait. With Raphael gone, there was no one to oppose him… and no hurry for him to stake his claim there.

Instead… he had other things. More important things.

_These things_.

“So… _my Lord_ ,” the demon purred, a smirk gracing his lips. “What kind of work do we have to do here, pray do tell.” 

A hand curled around the demon’s tie, pulling him closer, closer, closer… “We must agree how we will run things, with you as my Devil. We must agree how you will run Hell for me. We must agree how you will _serve_ me. You will serve me, will you not?”

“Of course. I love to serve you. To please you… what do you wish for me to do for you?”

Cas pulled him inexorably closer, until their lips all but touched. He breathed over Crowley’s, a smile playing over his own. “ **Worship me** ,” he purred. “Praise me. _**Love me**_.”

“How would you like me to begin to worship you? My hands? My lips? What is your wish, my love?”

What did Castiel want? Everything. _Everything_. His demon-king burned so much brighter, now. He was so very, very beautiful to look at. He could only imagine how he, himself looked. He tilted his head to one side, mouth against the demon’s, stroking as he spoke. “ **I want it all**.”

Crowley placed his hands on either side of Castiel’s head gingerly. “You were always beautiful, always so bright… but now? It’s breathtaking.” His fingers trailed down either side of Cas’ neck, looking back up at him. Next he tugged at the familiar, backwards blue tie. “May I?”

Castiel beamed. This was better. This was the respect and love he deserved. Why was only the King of Hell able to provide it? It made no sense… but Crowley had loved him, even before. Of course he would love him now. 

“You may,” he said, with a benevolent, caring incline of the head. “You should know your God favours you, of all his disciples.”

Crowley blinked away the tie, the overcoat, but left the shirt intact. That is, of course, until he ripped the shirt open and ran his hands over his angel - well… while he wasn’t an angel anymore, not technically anyway… he was still _his_ angel, right? Yes - his angel’s chest, placing kisses at the base of Castiel’s neck, his lips tickling over the soft, delicate skin there.

The kisses made him growl, low and pleased in his throat. Cas curled fingers around the back of the demon’s neck, stroking softly but ready to hold him, ready to remind him that he could _snap_ that neck, at any moment. Could break his spine. Could burn the smoke and souls from his meatsuit. **He was God**.

“You were the only one who believed in me,” he purred. “You were the only one who showed _faith_. And I am a loving, caring God. I will take care of you, now. You will be mine, demon. You will belong to me.”

Crowley nipped at Cas’ throat carefully, “Because I love you like no one else can.” He moved farther down to his angel’s chest, flicking his tongue over a nipple. “And for that, I will take care of you, whatever you need, angel - I can still call you angel, right? I know you’re so much more than that now… I can see it, I can feel it… but you’ll always be **my** angel…”

“For you,” Cas agreed, pulling his wings out in one slow, sure movement. They were rippling with Grace, with souls, with victory. “I will be your angel, as well as your Lord and Saviour. For you alone…”

He put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder and pushed - knowing he would kneel - there was no disobeying him. Not now. 

The King of Hell knelt, hands dragging down Castiel’s sides, hooking themselves the waistband of his pants. “Shall I use my mouth now, my _Lord_?” His tone was loving, his eyes begging to let him worship with his lips, his tongue, his hands.

“You may,” he agreed, a finger just twirling through the demon’s short hair. “Make it good for me, and I will love you as you have never been loved before. I will show you how very, very precious you are to me. I will show you **Heaven**.”

Crowley didn’t say anything, only smiled up at Cas as he unfastened the belt and pants. He reached in, wrapping his hand around Castiel’s dick. He pulled him out, wasting no time in dragging his tongue over him from the root up, flicking delicately against the tip before taking him all the way into his mouth, never once taking his eyes from his angel’s.

Castiel smiled at the feel of his demon worshipping him - of course Crowley would know to get to the point. They had both waited so long to find one another, it was vitally important to make sure that every last moment together was used fully: like the demon’s mouth. He grabbed the back of his head, shoving him further to his crotch, rutting deep into his throat. He could feel the way it worked around him, could feel the stretch of his lips and the hum of his awkward breaths. They felt good. “My beautiful demon-king,” he said, his voice rich with approval. “You know what to do. You know…” 

He wasn’t letting Crowley move. Not when he could hold him in place until the demon gagged and choked. _Power_. Control. It was what he had, what he craved. What he **needed**. He was not moving until he knew he had to.

Crowley swallowed around his angel’s dick, moving his tongue as best he could with _literally_ the strength of the Lord holding him in place. Crowley was powerful now - much, much more powerful than he had been - but still not quite so much as Castiel. 

Castiel was absolute power. Absolute strength. The demon - Devil - well, the new and improved King of Hell... had no choice, but to do as the Lord wished. So he swirled his tongue around that cock the best he could, trying to make it feel as good as he possibly could for his love.

“Demon…” Cas’ voice was strangely gentle and fond, for all he was holding Crowley over his cock like a puppet. “If you beg… if you beg me… I will show you my love. Do you want that?”

His mind was whirling, jumping from one thought to another. There was so much to do. So much to _try_. So many **things**. How did you choose? He had _every_ choice, now, opening before him like a desert with no paths, with hidden caves and oases just beyond his eyeline. Where did he go first? What did he do? What did he want?

The demon tried to say _please, yes, please_ , but it came out a garbled mess. He prayed in his head: _Castiel, please, I beg you. Show me your love… please_.

That felt good, and he laughed at how it vibrated around his cock. “Again. _Again_.” His eyes drifted shut as he let the rumbling feelings go straight into his core… and then he dragged Crowley off his dick. Saliva ran like a chain from his lips, to the angel’s cock. So pretty, his demon. So beautiful. So perfect. Keeping his hand on the back of his neck, he dragged him - still on his knees - over to the bed, slamming him bent over the edge. 

Crowley loved the feel of his angel’s hand on the back of his neck, of being guided by those now super-powered divine hands of his. He gladly bent over the bed, trying to catch a glimpse of the beautiful, glowing creature behind him.

“Tell me how you love me,” Castiel demanded, his voice level but it brooked no argument. “Tell me, demon…”

He pushed his hands under the demon’s jacket, stroking up his spine over his shirt… then he was bending to reach around, to palm over his crotch, to unfasten the belt so he could tug those pants down.

Crowley was practically purring, back arching for more contact. “I love you with everything that I am… everything that I _was_... everything I’ll ever be. It all belongs to you… everything. I love you with every tendril of my smoke, with every fiber, every muscle, every bone of this meatsuit that contains me… I love you with **everything** I have, Cas… I’m all yours, every single bit of me. It’s not much, but I hope it’s enough.”

A soft kiss on the back of his neck, as Castiel pushed those pants down to tangle around his knees. He slid the demon’s boxer-briefs down, too, and moved to rub his cheek against the demon’s bare ass. “It is, Crowley. It is. Would you like me to show you how I love you, in return?”

“Yes, _yes_ , please… **God** yes,” he hissed.

He didn’t need to use any chemicals, of course. He was God. He could say _fiat lube_ and lube would appear. He could scratch a fingernail over the demon’s entrance, and then slide his finger torturously slowly inside. He knew Crowley liked to be filled. He knew Crowley loved this sensation. He knew, too, how good it _did_ feel, now. “I want to make you feel like you never have… Do you trust me?”

“Of course, my Lord… with my life. Please… please do.”

A second finger, because he knew he could take it. Castiel moved to kneel between the demon’s parted legs. Kneel - but only for him - with a hand rubbing slowly over his back. He knew he had all the power, here. He knew he had all the control. “Do not be quiet. I like to hear you.”

Crowley moaned. That hand skimming over his back sent tiny sparks of pleasure through his entire body. He pushed back a bit on the fingers, wanting _more_. “ _Cas_... I love it when you touch me like that.”

A snort, and Cas nipped at Crowley’s thigh. “You do? You love it when I pull you wide open?” He started to stroke in harder, now, faster. Started to splay his fingers, to swirl them inside. “Tell me, demon, has any angel but me been inside of you?” Angel. Because he did not want to know the answer to the _other_ questions.

Another moan. “Yes, I love it when you stretch and pull me open for you. _Fuck_.” His breathing was picking up a bit. “You are my one and only angel… my first, and my last.”

“I **will** be the last.” It was not a request, either. It was an order, pure and simple. A third finger shoved in, with less finesse. He was just watching the demon, now. Watching the way his legs twitched, and his sides heaved. Watching as he clutched at the bed under his hand. “Tell me, demon, how much can you take?”

“ _God only knows_ ,” he breathed out with a chuckle. “Why don’t we find out?”

Cas made a noise of amusement. “Are you sure?” He pressed his little finger to the demon’s hole, teasing but not yet sliding it in. “Is this what you want, Crowley? Is this what you _crave_?”

“I crave _you_. Your touch, your kisses, the smile you reserve for me… everything you do, love. I crave you.”

Four fingers inside, and a hand low on his spine, holding him in place as the angel fucked his demon with them, marvelling at how his meatsuit seemed to gobble his fingers, like it loved them. Cas placed a little kiss to the demon’s upper thigh, smiling at the soft sounds of Crowley’s body welcoming this, welcoming him. “You will have me, demon. You will have my love, as no one else can. My beautiful, broken beast… I will make you whole again…” 

Cas let the feeling - the brightness - the souls - rise up, let the power curl around his elbow, snaking down to his wrist and into his fingers. He could feel the other souls inside the demon, tangling with his smoke. He could feel the way they called out to the ones in his own vessel. Kindred spirits, they were, the powers they had consumed, and now he knew how to spark against them. It was just the same as using a human’s soul in their chest, really. Magnified a thousandfold. Perhaps it was not a conventional thing to do to your lover, but who had loved the Devil like this? And who God?

“My demon… _I want to make you scream…_ ”

Crowley clutched at the sheet, fingers curling, pulling at the fabric. He had to stay as still as possible, had to show how obedient he was, how ready to do anything Castiel asked of him. It was… strange. This new, powerful angel. He’d seen hints of this before - in the diner, in their bedroom - but now? Now it was more clear, more apparent. Cas really was radiant with all those souls, and though it was a blasphemy to call him God? Who was the King of Hell to judge? God had done sweet F. A. for him over the years, and then he’d buggered off and left everyone to fend for themselves… 

Maybe Castiel wasn’t God. Crowley didn’t give a fuck. Castiel was the most powerful creature on the planet, now, with perhaps him coming in a close second. Maybe he should feel more proud, more… powerful… but one look in his angel’s beautiful, caring, _loving_ eyes and he’d known. Oh, he’d known. Cas could ask anything, and he’d do it. He should be more afraid of that, of the power Cas wielded… he should be careful, be cautious, be… circumspect… 

...but here he was, bent over his bed, hands curled up in the linen as the once-angel of Thursday worked four fingers into his ass, as _power_ surged inside of him, as the souls within were tugged this way and that like a rolling, insistent wave...

“My angel, _please do_ ,” he begged.

“I want you to know, my King, my Devil…” the angel paused, wondering… how much? Crowley was already shaking, his legs twitching under the pressure, but he hadn’t made any noise of pain or distress, hadn’t tried to stop him… “that you…” he could take more. Surely. He could manage if the angel pushed his hand into a fist. If he tightened his hand, if he put it all inside of him? 

Cas stopped speaking, because… he could. He could put his whole hand inside of Crowley, and Crowley just cried out in what _sounded like bliss_. 

Surely that was wrong? Cas stared at Crowley, stared at the way his shoulders rose and fell, rose and fell. His hands were white-knuckled in the sheets, and he could almost _see_ the way the tension bled up his back, radiating from where he was pushed deep inside. He could flare up the light in his hand, and Crowley all but _glowed_ from within.

“...how… does that feel?”

Crowley groaned. How did that feel? His breaths were heavy and the tiniest of movements made him _very_ aware that Castiel was wrist deep in him. He could feel the sheer **power** from the once-angel. It felt like pressure… some pain… but it felt good, oh so good to have the angel _inside_ him in such a way. 

“It feels… it feels good…” I think. 

The way the souls swirled in him and were drawn back towards the ones inside of Castiel was intoxicating and Crowley was punch-drunk. His body felt strung-out from the intrusion, too, like it wasn’t wholly certain what to make of it. It felt… full. And firm. And good. And it made his balls tense below him, made his stomach clench in a weird, reassuring way.

“Has anyone ever done this, with you?” Cas asked, twitching his fingers inside of him, trying to tug at the strands of _him_ he could feel. “Tell me honestly. I will know if you are lying…”

Something between a whimper and a moan escaped Crowley’s throat. “ _No_ , only you…” The demon might’ve elaborated if it wasn’t so fucking hard to breathe. Of course no one had done this to him. To - quite literally - open yourself up to someone in this way was _not_ something the King of Hell was used to doing. It required a certain amount of trust, which was not something the demon gave out willingly. 

Cas knew he was telling the truth. He could feel the sincerity, like a spark in the demon’s smoke. Why had he ever thought otherwise? Well. Perhaps because he’d never asked, before. Because he knew there would be too many things he did not want to hear the answer to. To many… other hands… that had graced his body. To many other lips. The jealousy that spiked into his belly made everything glow _red_ inside him, before he could pull it back down

“Good,” he said, and moved in closer. He reached between the demon’s legs to find the proud, straining proof of his arousal. All his. _His_. “I might have to find whoever did this to you, and _burn the memory from their mind_ if not…” He started to stroke him slow, but hard. Started to move that hand inside of him. Started to push him towards completion.

Crowley sucked in air through his teeth, biting his lip. “Cas…” He was afraid to move too much, afraid the feelings that bordered on pleasure and pain would switch to pain entirely. He was slightly afraid of what might happen if he utterly lost control as well… 

“It’s okay,” he said, voice mellow again as soon as it had gone sharp. “I will look after you. I will make you burn with pleasure. I will break you apart and then put you back together again. Demon…” his hand going faster, moving until Crowley couldn’t help but push into it, couldn’t help but try to ride that hand. “I don’t think you understand. I don’t think you know…” kisses over his back, “...do you? Do you know? That God loves only you?” 

It was… hard to say that. Very hard. But he had to, he had to because it had been rising in his chest, it had been swirling in his stomach, for what felt like forever. It had been… there. Unspoken. “ _Only_ you. It could only, ever, be you…” The hand on his dick tightening until it must be stinging, it must… “So scream for me, Crowley. Scream my name, so I can count your pleasure as my first miracle…”

His angel’s declarations were enough to bring Crowley to that point… but there was a hand wrapped around him and Cas wanted Crowley to scream - and scream he did. He bellowed _Castiel_ so loud he could’ve swore Hell was shaken. He coated the once-angel’s hand with come as he moaned and repeated the name over and over. The name that was the other half of him, the name written deep inside of him, the name of the one being who held the heart of the King of Hell. 

_Castiel_. 

The angel smiled - a too-too-wide smile. His demon. Did anyone else play him as well as Castiel did? Could anyone else reduce him to this quivering, pleased wreck? Surely no one else could make him so happy, or else why would the demon have chosen him? He must… he must be… he must be _worthy_. He stroked and stroked until the demon’s cock could spurt no more. He stroked until Crowley was boneless and shaking. He stroked until he was satisfied he had wrung every last shiver of pleasure from his King.

And then he smiled again. Crowley. A soft, soft kiss as he pulled his hand slowly out. He placed another kiss over the demon’s entrance, just the slightest flicker of tongue against raw-stretched skin. 

“How do you wish… to please me?”

He was feeling generous, after all.

Crowley was still out of breath and recovering. “Any way I can, my love… is there something specific you wish for?” He looked towards Castiel. He was so very **bright**. His beautiful radiance was distracting. “Anything.” 

Cas moved closer, hands on Crowley’s shoulders… then he slid his palms over the demon’s arms, all the way to the hands still clutching at the bedsheets. Kisses that roamed over his shoulders, up his neck, so he could breathe in his hair. A blink, and they were both bare. He rolled his hips, his dick slipping between the demon’s thighs. 

“All I want is... _you_.” A thrust, a push of his cock against the demon’s empty balls. “All I have ever wanted… is **you**.” Another push, and with a pull back and some small feat of magic… he was sliding into the King’s open, welcoming body. “I want to make love to you forever, Crowley. I want to stay here and fuck you until you beg me for mercy…” 

A little laugh, and the angel sent a shock of heat through Crowley, a punch to the gut. “Should I make you come again? I think you’re empty, I think I already fucked you dry, but I could make you hump the bed and scream again… how many times can I make you call my name in bliss?”

Crowley’s eyes closed, moaning again. “You have me, Cas. You have me. I’m all yours… Who will take control of Heaven if you’re here fucking me into oblivion?” a small smirk. “If you wanted to, I’m sure you could make me come until the end of time, my angel.”

“I will give them all things to keep them occupied, then,” Cas snorted, but… not without wondering, had the first God fallen for someone, too? Was that what kept him from Heaven? He pulled Crowley’s hands open enough to slip his fingers between them, riding him slow but sure. “You’re right, though… I cannot spend all my time with you, even though I want to…”

The demon frowned a bit, though he knew his angel could not spend every moment with him. His dick was already hard again, sliding against the mattress as Cas moved in him. 

“I will leave,” Cas said, regret there in his tone, “because I love the world, too. I will leave, to make things better… but I will always come back to you. I promise you that. I promise…” He wanted to keep his pace, he did, but Crowley _did things_ to him. Insane things. Crazy, messed up, beautiful things. He sat back on his haunches, a hand that moved to drag over the demon’s torso, up to lie fingers over the arch of his throat… pulling Crowley upright, to, so that he was sitting astride his dick. Shallow pushes up, and he pulled the hand he was still holding, pushed it into place, so that Crowley could touch himself. So he could feel it. 

“I will _always_ come home.”

_I will always come home._ **Home.** With Crowley. The demon smiled as his angel urged his hand in place. Crowley stroked himself, matching the pace Castiel was setting. 

“I love to hear you say things like that, Cas.” 

“Then I will say them more often,” he insisted. “I will whisper them into your ear last thing at night, and first thing in the morning.” He was going faster again, losing his self-control. He knew Crowley would take it, knew he could take almost anything. “And I have forever to prove it.”

“I - I like the sound of that,” the demon breathed, his hand still echoing the angel’s thrusts “ _Cas_.” Already so close once again… his angel would be the death of him.

“ _Say my name_ ,” Castiel growled.

The demon complied, moaning his angel’s name with his head tilted back as he jacked himself over the edge once more. 

“Oh, _God_...” Crowley squinted. God… Cas was God now, so… but it was hard to think with **God** still fucking him. “ _God_... is that what you want, love… my God?”

The hand around his throat nearly ruptured the demon’s trachea at that… hearing _that_ name so breathily, rapturously moaned? He could… he could think it really **was** true. He didn’t want to talk, wasn’t sure he could, grabbing a mouthful of the demon’s shoulder and **biting** the snarl into him as with one more shove, he was done, too. Spending deep inside his lovely, perfect, caring King. His King. His. He didn’t let go with his teeth until he was sure he was calm enough, and then he lifted the demon up and from his lap, and tossed him effortlessly onto the bed. 

Castiel launched onto the mattress after him, crawling on all fours up to kiss his cheek. “Wait for me. I will be back.”

He didn’t even wait for a reply before - with a flap - he and his clothes were gone.

“Bloody angel.” But Crowley couldn’t wipe the smile from his face - until he tried to move, of course. That damn bird had done a number on his ass… he’d have to return the favour one day.


	32. Chapter 32

It felt good, cleaning up the hypocrites and false prophets. It was something that needed to be done. Something the new God put on a priority list rather than just let them exist like the old God. Heaven was in more of a state of order now, the angels feared and respected Castiel - **no** \- _God_.

There were so many of them, that he did not know where to start. His attention drawn this way and that, the snatches of prayer and entreaty that echoed around in his head. Some of the prayers were just and righteous, but a great many of them were wicked, selfish, vain.

_Please God, I know I don’t really believe in you, and I have no right in asking, but I really need this promotion at work and…_

No.

_Oh God. Oh God. I’m going to die. He’s going to kill me. I know I shouldn’t have cheated on him, but I was so alone, so alone, he’s going to run me through right now, I heard him get the knife, he’s going to--_

No.

_My Grammie has always been good and kind and she says her prayers every night and she tucks me in when she stays over and she gives the best hugs and she makes the best apple pie and please don’t take my Grammie from me I know the cancer is bad but please she is my only Grammie and I love her and…_

No.

How could he cope with the sheer volume of prayers? Everywhere, all around the world, people were calling out his name. They were calling out ‘Oh My God’. Some of them in the rapture of congress, some of them because the store was out of gatorade, some of them because they hit their toe on the bedside cabinet… and even the prayers which were actually directed at him? How could he decide which he should answer, which he should listen to?

He would be set to fly off in one direction, to heal an injured soldier, but the next moment the plight of a woman in childbirth - her baby in distress - would distract him. Should he intervene? In everything? When was it right to, and when was it not? How had his father coped with all this… **noise**?

What did he prioritise? Should he listen to the cries of the needy first, or should he chastise the wicked? Did he reward the good, or punish the sinners? He was God, but he was only one being. He could only be in one place at once. 

It was… it was maddening. He had to find some way to order it. Some way to keep in control. He could spend forever prioritising, so he decided the only fair way was to go in the order the messages came through. One good, one bad. Balanced.

Yes.

That worked.

***

With Castiel off sorting out Heaven, Crowley decided to pay a visit to Cecily. She was sitting on her couch in her apartment watching the news when Crowley appeared.

“Hello, darling.”

“Crowley! I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, standing up and looking him over approvingly. “I see it worked.”

“That it did. New and improved Devil at your service, sweetheart.” He grinned, bowing his head slightly.

“I gotta say, boss,” she said with a smile. “It suits you.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” he smirked, smoothing his jacket. “It’s like I was **meant** for this. For all of it.”

“How’s it feel?”

He sighed slowly, looking up in thought. “It feels _good_...” Not as good as Castiel’s hands all over him… or inside him… but it _did_ feel good - damn good.

Cecily watched the King lost in his thoughts, looking off into space. He looked the very part of a King: head held high, chin up… and good God - or something like that - was he _beautiful_. So much power radiated off him… it was… it was rather intoxicating. She didn’t even realise she was biting her lip.

“Must look good, too, eh?” Crowley smirked.

“--I, uh… yeah… totes. Um… so… what’s next?” 

“For starters, dismantle all the torture equipment and hide it where it can’t be found. I need every shred of evidence that Purgatory exists destroyed. **No one** is to find it, is that clear?”

“Crystal, my King.”

“Very good. Now then - you’ve done excellent work for me, you should be rewarded, no? Got anything in mind… something your King can make happen for you?”

Cecily raised her eyebrows… there certainly _was_ something Crowley could make happen for her, but… he was all tied up in wings and halos apparently. Who could blame him? The angel was **hot**. 

She gave a heavy sigh. “Got anymore jobs for me? I have _greatly_ enjoyed all this spy work.”

“Spy work, you say? Ever thought about doing it as a career?”

Cecily considered the thought. “But I **have** a career… my meatsuit was a secretary… it pays the bills.”

“Sweetheart, I can get you a job anywhere and if collecting data and passing it along to the highest bidder is your bag, well… perhaps you should consider a career. After all, you’re _very_ good at it.”

The grin that spread across Crowley’s face was more than enough to convince her. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

***

Heaven needed God. Without Him, they had turned to anarchy. Brother and sister against brother and sister. The archangels had nearly ruined the whole world, and yet more had turned to Lucifer. It was necessary that there be a God. It was essential for the continued running of the world. Too many wrongs went unpunished. If there was no God on high, then wickedness spread and ran rampant, even in the Gardens.

Too many of the angels had listened to Raphael. They could not be trusted. They had listened to Raphael, and it was only because he - she - was now dead did they bend the knee and cower before him. How could he trust them? They had believed in death, in the end of things. They did not believe in love, in life, in the world. They did not believe in humanity, they believed only in themselves.

It was a mercy to kill them. It was preferable to imprisonment. Imprisonment made angels into little Lucifers, and Castiel did not need anyone around who could escape. He knew better. You did not leave your enemies alive.

“Cas…”

It was Balthazar. Castiel turned. He had kept Balthazar alive, for all he had attempted to betray him. _Attempted_ , because there was no way a drunk, a wreck and a battered soul could ever have stood against him. How could they? He had kept Balthazar alive as a mercy, for the angel had done more help than harm to his cause. He had delivered weapons, and he had tried to deliver souls. Those things had to count for something.

“Balthazar.”

“I can’t help but notice the - ah - redecoration attempts. Red? Really?”

“There is no red, Balthazar.”

“I was speaking metaphorically, bab-- uh - my Lord. You know. ‘Out, damned spot’ and the like?”

“I am unsure what you are referring to.”

“...no, high art was never your strong point, was it? Still, I’m not sure how you’ve managed to hang around dirt-side so long and not absorb some of it, by osmosis if nothing else…”

“Get to the point, Balthazar.”

“What I’m saying, my fine leader, is that you are - ah - somewhat frighteningly militant at times. And there’s… been rather enough death to go around, wouldn’t you say? Surely now is the time to be clement and merciful?”

“I must be firm, Balthazar.”

“You can be firm and fair.”

“It is fair to let this be an end of it, Cas. You won. We all know that. The world is safe, the people are safe, Heaven is safe… but you can stop fighting, now. The war is over. No one opposes you.”

“Not _now_.”

“You’re right: not now. They’re not going to cause trouble, and if you show them mercy, you’ll win their hearts and Graces, Cas. But if you keep using force as a weapon, as a dialogue?”

Cas’ eyes narrowed. “This is not up for discussion. Balthazar. Need I remind you that you, too, opposed me?”

“It wasn’t so much ‘opposed’, as assisted your erstwhile friends, who had a very valid concern in your chosen company…”

Just because Crowley was the King of Hell. Just because he was a demon. _Crowley_ had not betrayed him. He’d pushed the angel’s goodwill, yes, but it was… it was complicated. And now Crowley loved him. Now Crowley loved him, Castiel was sure that he could rely on him. After all, Castiel was God, now.

“My relationship with the demon is none of your business. _Nor_ the Winchesters’. Now I suggest you do not question me further.”

“Nope. Nope. Quite right. Sorry to have bothered you… you just… carry on smiting… pretend like you never saw me.”

Castiel was beginning to wonder if sparing Balthazar had been the right thing to do.

***

Crowley leafed through the reports Cecily had delivered on the remaining Lucifer loyalists. They were few and far between, now. Ever since they had opened up Purgatory and the word had spread that not only did the King of Hell carry enough souls to blast Tartarus to pieces, but also he had the new ‘God’s’ blessing? There’d been a sharp _volt-face_ and everyone had been quick to kowtow and pledge allegiance to his rule.

Except Meg. Meg remained stubbornly missing. She had to know that - no matter what she did - Crowley would not forgive her, would not welcome her back. Scotius had been one thing. Meg? Meg was another matter entirely. She’d tortured him, she’d tried to kill him and worst of all? _She had kissed his angel_. That bloody bitch.

He shook his head, continuing to stare at the page listing all of Meg’s information. Where was that piece of shit demon hiding? How could she evade everyone so well? Crowley tossed the Lucifer loyalists paperwork to the side. He’d much rather review his newest plan to bring even more efficiency to his Hell. His Hell… his Kingdom. He smiled, grabbing a bottle of Craig to pour into a glass. His reign was solid now. After years of nepotism and focussing on age and time served, the system was ripe for a shake-up. Find some way to identify talent early - like, say, Cecily - and nurture it. A fast track, of sorts. It was--

The scenery had changed. He had been summoned. He looked around to see Bobby, the Winchesters, and Balthazar. “No. No! **NO**! _Come on_!”

“Don't act so surprised,” Bobby drawled.

“My new boss is going to kill me for even talking to you lads.”

“Well, you're lucky we're not stabbing you in your scuzzy face, you little piece…” Dean started.

“Whoa, wait! What new boss?” the younger Winchester asked.

“Castiel, you giraffe.” Who the fuck else would it be, Moose. Good God, this one was dumber than he looked.

“--Is your boss?” Bobby asked.

“Is everybody's boss. What do you think he's going to do if he finds out we've been conspiring? You do you want to conspire... don't you?” The demon narrowed his eyes.

“No. We want you to just stand there and look pretty,” Bobby frowned.

“Listening…” He could do looking pretty. Of course he could. And it had not been that long since he’d smooched that foul-mouthed alcoholic, though even if he did have some lingering interest in the King of Hell, it wasn’t mutual. As if Singer could compare to… well. God.

Crowley’s eyes wandered back to Balthazar. “You know you’re really not high on his list for Angel of the Year, right?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Balthazar agreed. “But the boys here do sell a hard line.”

Dean made a sort of growling noise. Apparently no real love between the Winchesters and their newest angelic slave. “We need a spell to bind Death.”

“Bind? _Enslave_ Death? You having a laugh?” the King scoffed.

“Lucifer did it,” said Dean defiantly.

“That's **Lucifer**.” 

The younger Winchester shrugged. “A spell's a spell.”

“You really believe you can handle that kind of horsepower? You're delusional!” No way. No way they could bind Death and take down Castiel. Not now, not when both he and his angel were superpowered.

“Death is the only player on the board left that has the kind of juice to take Cas.” Dean looked a bit desperate. A desperate Winchester was a dangerous Winchester.

“Death would mash us like peas. Why should I help with a suicide mission?” Not that the King of Hell would _actually_ consider taking down his angel, his God. No. Unheard of. “Not to mention: No. No, and no. In that order.”

“Look - do you really want Cas runnin’ the universe?” the oldest Hunter spat out.

“Seems to me he’s not doing too bad a job of it, Squirrel. Let’s see…” Crowley poured himself another drink, swirling it slowly. Might as well enjoy himself at the same time, if the bastards were going to summon him so rudely. “So far he’s curing the lepers, he’s healing the sick, the lame but not the lazy… he’s throwing the money-lenders from the temple, he’s casting out the preachers with the unfortunately typical sidelines that Rome doesn’t agree with… you following so far?”

Dean narrowed his eyes at the demon. “The Hell are you suggesting? That we let Super Cas run around with all that power just doing whatever the Hell he wants?”

“What I’m saying, slow boat, is why not give him a chance? The world’s been without God for far too long. Maybe it’ll do some good? You can’t just shoot everything that moves, you know?” 

“In my experience, you _should_ shoot it if it ain’t acting right, Crowley.”

“Maybe it _is_ acting right. You ever consider that, Dean? You ever think maybe this was all part of the master plan?”

“He’s murdering all the ex-Raphael loyalists, you know,” Balthazar put in. “Proper Old Testament. Fire and the sword. No mercy. None.”

“So… you mean to say, he’s acting like the old God - the one who was **present** and accounted for? How is that a bad thing? Kept everyone in line, didn’t He?”

“Dude, that guy was a douche, if you didn’t notice,” Dean pointed out. “And Cas? Cas ain’t God. Maybe he’s all jacked up on soul Red Bulls, but he just needed them to get rid of the dickbag archangel. He’s gone, now, so we need the old Cas back. And if we can’t get him…”

“If you can’t get him… what? You plan on murdering him? For saving the universe? You want to repay the one angel prepared to put his neck on the line for you, prepared to make a deal with the Devil, just to keep the world spinning? My god. You’re all ingrates.” Crowley was furious. _Furious_. Sure the whole Holy War thing had been secondary to his own Hellish War, but he’d also had a vested interest in the world keep spinning.

“We’ll do what we gotta do, Crowley.”

“Lovely. I can’t wait to _destroy_ you when you try.”

“Now, now, let’s not get all Mr Crankypants, shall we?” The angel was pushing down with his hands, trying to lower the sudden tension in the room. “Crowley. The Winchesters have a point. Cas has been a bit… heavy-handed, shall we say? You know. All ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’. It’s a little.. drastic, don’t you agree? Like what he did to the Lion King over here…”

Sam winced at the nickname. “I’m-- I--”

“Shush, Fluffy, I’m on your side, remember? Well… Crowley. Please will you consider it…?” Balthazar clasped his hands together in entreaty, a little demure bow at the waist. “We are all worried by his behaviour, but we can’t stage an intervention without your assistance. And the sooner we do it, the better.”

A flick of the demon’s wrist sent all four of the morons flying against the wall. “You ungrateful, sackless, mindless **pricks**!” It was incredibly satisfying watching the looks on their faces. Hah. They thought the Devil’s Trap they’d summoned him into would hold, didn’t they? Cas might be God, but Crowley was now _The Devil_ , and he was no longer just some punkass ex-Crossroads King. He was **the King** , the most powerful creature in damnation. “After all he did for you! After he tried to save you, Sam, and after he tried to leave you to your ridiculous suburban nightmare, Dean…”

Crowley stepped over the threshold of the trap, gratified by the sudden look of fear on all their faces. Balthazar was readying to fly off - must be a family trait - but Crowley lifted a hand and tightened it around the air, holding the angel still. 

“After _you_ sold him out, and he forgave you, you feathered shit. And **you** , Singer? I wasn’t even planning on keeping you forever - well, maybe - but he came and begged me to release you. Did you know that? Did you know he had me orchestrate the whole Fergus McSham just to let you feel you’d got one over on me, so you could walk around with your soul intact?”

“Don’t excuse everything,” Bobby said, gruffly. “Don’t excuse what he did to _Sam_. What he’s still doing to other angels, apparently, and anyone he considers ‘hypocritical’.”

“Don’t you _get it_?” Crowley was pacing closer, now. “ _Castiel has done all of this for you utterly ungrateful, selfish, whiny babies_. And instead of you thanking him? Maybe saying: ‘Good job, Cas, nice one, thanks for that, isn’t it swell we can continue to breathe the air and shove our hands in our pants and make ourselves jolly’… instead of that, you’re bitching because he didn’t let you in on a tricky, complicated plan. You feel all butt-hurt because he trusted **me** more than you. You wish he’d just be your toy soldier, your trained attack dog… _not let him think for himself_.”

“No **YOU** don’t get it, Crowley. You’re a _demon_ , you don’t want to ‘save the world’ you just want your little contracts and your stupid _Hell_. You don’t care about the world or what you do to it, as long you’re happy,” Dean spat.

A snap of fingers, and Dean’s mouth sealed shut, the demon’s amber eyes flashing with rage. If it wasn’t for Castiel’s lingering _regard_ for these selfish dicks, he would have reduced every last one of them down to their component atoms. “One? Hell is not stupid. Two? I happen to like the world. Three? There’s nothing wrong in being happy. And four? **Four**? You know _nothing_ about me, Dean Daddy Issue Winchester. Nothing.” He tilted his head to one side. “And you know what? _Castiel loved me when I was just the demon King of Hell_. And if the greatest angel ever made can love me? Well. You can - how shall I put it? **Bite me**.”

Before the others had a chance to say anything about that revelation, Crowley took extreme delight in taking a leaf from his lover’s book… and vanishing without a single further word.

Let them stew where he threw them for a while, before the lingering effects of his magic faded.

“Did he just say--?” Dean asked, still restrained on the wall despite the absence of the demon. No way. There was no _fucking_ **way** Cas was - with Crowley? No. **No.**

“‘Castiel _loved me_ ’?” Bobby’s face scrunched in confusion.

“He means like, a brother… or like… you know, cause God says to love everybody, right?” Dean asked. Please?

The four of them fell to floor with a thud. They stood and looked around carefully, just to make sure Crowley hadn’t returned.

“‘Fraid not, sweetie. I suspected as much… that only confirms it. Looks like your favorite little pet angel’s gone and fallen head over heels with the King of Hell. Explains quite a bit, no?” Balthazar chuckled. 

Dean scrunched his face up in disgust. Crowley? _Crowley??_ Maybe Dean had known all along. Maybe he knew ever since the moment he realized Cas actually **was** working with Crowley. Maybe it was Castiel screaming ‘It’s not broken.’ Dean should’ve known. But he didn’t want to. He didnt want to think that Cas could be so _stupid_. Maybe it was a spell Crowley had him under. Yeah… a spell. But deep down, hearing Balthazar say it aloud, there was no denying it or making up excuses or stories for the angel - Castiel wasn’t just working with Crowley… he was in an _actual_ relationship with him. 

“Unbelieveable.” Dean frowned, shaking his head.

“Guess we’ll just have to find another way to bind Death, then,” the youngest Winchester said. 

The angel snorted. “Good luck with that, sweetie. I’m rooting for you, really I am.”

Balthazar disappeared with a flap of wings, leaving the three Hunters staring at each other.

“Guess we’ll have to go to Plan B,” the oldest of them said.

“Lemme guess - we don’t have a Plan B, do we?” Dean said sarcastically.

“Nope.”


	33. Chapter 33

“Well, Cas. You know how they say keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?”

“I am aware of the saying, yes.”

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, is all I’ll say.”

Castiel frowned. Was that literal, or not? Did Crowley not want to talk more, or did he? He was finding it hard to work through things, now. He had so many things to set right. He had so many wrongs to right. So many bad deeds done in his name. He narrowed his eyes and lips at Crowley, wondering if the demon would change the subject, now? He wanted to give him his full attention, he did. He did. It was just… hard.

“Really?”

“I am sorry?”

Cas wasn’t sure why he said that. God should not be sorry. God was all-knowing and all-powerful. ~~_Not God. Not God. Broken little angel. **Castiel we can see you**_~~.

“You’re not going to ask me why I’m ruffled?”

“You had said you did not want to talk about it.”

“That was a figure of speech.”

“And now you will tell me anyway. You always will tell me if you wish to. Why do I need to ask, then?”

Crowley was about to argue the point, he saw, when something stopped him and he shook his head, a smile breaking through some of the storm-cloud. “Okay. You got me there. Well, as I was saying… Dumb, Dumber, Dumbbell and the Angel of Afternoon Teas all thought they’d call me over for a pow-wow. Did you know? The bloody cheek…”

“The Hunters and Balthazar?” It was difficult, at times, to prise the truth from Crowley’s overly-complicated words. Why did he insist on using so many words for things, instead of calling them what they were?

“Yes. Them. _Summoned me_. Had the gall to tell me they thought you were…” the demon lifted a hand and twirled a finger around in a circle by his temple. 

Castiel knew what the gesture meant, and it annoyed him. “They still do not understand…”

“Not so much. Wanted me to _summon Death_ , Cas. **Death**. I came this close--” hands clenched into fists that shook, “-- **this close** to exploding them. I could… I could _see_ it happening…”

“But… you did not?”

Crowley thought about it. “No. No, I didn’t.”

The angel-God stared at the demon, his lips pursed.

“...I didn’t… for you.”

“...thank you.”

The demon shrugged. “You might want to do something about them, though. _I_ know how to summon Death, so it stands to reason someone else might work out how. That bird - Balthazar - he’s… cunning. And flexible.”

“Death cannot kill **God**.”

“But can he kill me, Cas? I don’t know, and I don’t particularly want to find out.”

“I will keep you safe.”

“They still managed to summon me…”

“It was… an oversight. I will pay closer attention, in the future.”

“Much obliged.”

Cas offered a smile, though, because he knew it was… he knew it was important. “I will punish them, for the insult. Do not worry, demon. They will know never to touch you again.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. Punish them? The Winchesters? His bloody pets? The ones he wasn’t allowed to touch? The ones who spawned so many fights at the mere mention of touching a hair on their heads? And now Cas was just… ready to slap them around?

“I’m fairly certain they’re aware of what will happen should they pull a stunt like that again. The thought of your punishing someone for me though… it’s very much appreciated, angel.”

“Even so, they were told to keep to themselves. I do not appreciate their… attempts to depose me. It shows ingratitude on their part, and a childish aspect to their personalities. I have been more than merciful, perhaps it is time I showed them my wrath.”

Something was not _quite_ right, but rather than continue this apparently ill-fated - for the Winchesters anyway - conversation, he decided to change directions slightly. 

“I do love to hear about your wrath, God. Tell me more about what you’ve been up to. I’ve seen the news reports, of course, but I want you to tell me the story of how you are making the world a better place.” Crowley offered him a genuine smile.

“I will tell you,” Cas agreed, “but you are wearing too many clothes. Don’t you agree?”

Crowley merely _thought_ about removing his jacket and it was lying neatly on the chair across the room. “There. Is that better?” he smirked.

“That is a start, demon. Are you _looking_ to be punished, also? Like I punished the priest who robbed his parish blind and spread hate with his sermons, spread prejudice… and then perpetuated the very acts he spoke out for? Or how I punished the loan sharks, with their hired muscle, preying on the weak and needy?”

“I’d prefer not to be punished… shall I beg for my forgiveness now or does that bit come later, my angel?”

“If you do as I have asked, then you do not need to ask my forgiveness. But what I see now? Is you continuing to be difficult. It would be… wise for you not to anger your God.”

“Believe me, love. That’s the _last_ thing I want to do. I’m all about loving you, worshipping you, pleasing you. So do tell… how may I please you, my God?”

_Snap_ went the angel’s fingers, and the tie started to unfasten itself and slink to the floor. “Less. Clothes. Less. Speaking.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows and nodded. He moved his hands to his belt, giving a questioning look to Castiel.

Castiel nodded at him to continue, watching appreciatively. He could wish it all away, of course, but that wasn’t the point. “Then I healed the sick. I healed the lepers, and the prostitutes, and the blind and the lame. I let an old woman hear her grandson for the first time. I lifted sickness from the poor, who live under railway bridges and inside of boxes…”

Crowley slowly undid his belt, smiling at the sound of Castiel’s voice and all his good deeds. Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad thing… even with the comment about the Winchesters. After all… hadn’t the demon begged the angel to kill those bloody morons? 

He pulled the belt from his pants. “Anything you care to do with this, love?”

“Didn’t I say less clothes?” Cas was not impressed. Another snap and all the buttons went from Crowley’s shirt. “Are you deliberately trying to annoy me? Do you think this is somehow - ‘cute’? I assure you… it is not. I have seen you naked before, Crowley. There is no need to be shy.”

“I was going for cute - clearly I missed the mark.” He shucked off his shirt and pulled down his pants, kicking his shoes off and tossing them into a neat pile. “As requested… less clothes, my Lord.”

Better. Why did he have to micro-manage everything? Wasn’t it enough that he was having to run the world, because the previous owner-occupier had fled and let the weeds grow to gargantuan heights? Now the Winchesters were a trouble again, and even the demon was making life difficult. ~~_They will never listen to you. Castiel… Castiellllll…_~~

He shook his head, shook the thoughts out. The… noises. ~~Voices.~~ A moment of frustration that flared up bright like a star going nova, and when he blinked back again, he’d thrown Crowley bodily onto the bed. He… he didn’t… 

“Will you do… anything I ask of you?”

“Of course, my love.” He would, too… even if he was a bit squicked by the whole punishing the Winchesters comment. 

Cas didn’t approach the bed, even though his demon was now sprawled naked over it. He didn’t walk closer. Not because he was confused, or even scared. Not because he was worried. It was simply… his own decision. Yes.

“Touch yourself. I want to see you touch yourself. I want to see how you please yourself, when I am not there. Put your hand around your dick, Crowley. Shove fingers inside of you, if you must. I would like… to _see_.”

Standing utterly still, barely even breathing. Eyes locked on him. ~~_Let us out. Let us out…._~~

Crowley’s hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly. He held his angel’s gaze and before too long, he was thrusting up into his own hand, biting his lip so he wouldn’t talk - he really didn’t want to piss off God any more than he had.

“Is that really how you please yourself, Crowley? You do not seem to be enjoying yourself. Do you always look so… lost?”

~~_He is afraid of you. They all are afraid of you. They know, Castiel, they know…_ ~~

The stupid, half-there voices that danced in his head must just be the after-effect of all those prayers. Nothing more. Cas stalked to the foot of the bed, his eyes slitted, his expression… superior… as he stared down at Crowley. “I thought you knew what to do. I thought you were… experienced. Was I wrong?”

“Got to start somewhere, don’t I?” Crowley looked up at Castiel, shifting so he could press a finger into himself. “Something else in particular you wish to see, my God?” He was stroking faster now and damn did it feel good. Having Cas watch was only making it that much better… but still there was that voice in the back of his head. 

~~Something is wrong.~~

It wasn’t… something wasn’t right. Cas wasn’t sure what, but… something was just _off_. He didn’t entirely feel like he was there, in the moment. He didn’t entirely feel like he was… _him_. He was here, he could feel the world, he could sense the light on his skin, the fabric that rustled, the ground beneath his feet… but it was also somehow as if the person feeling all these things was **not** him. Like he was at a remove from the world, vibrating slightly out of sync with all the molecules around him. He felt the dull stirring in his groin, but it was… almost academic.

“You must do better,” Cas insisted. “I want to see you truly enjoying yourself. I want to know you’re doing it for me. I want to know you **only** do it for me.” His blue eyes went hard and unforgiving. “Or I will smite every creature still living that you have ever fornicated with.”

“Smite them all, I don’t care. The only one that matters is you, Cas. You’re the only one that’s _ever_ mattered. I think about you all the time. I imagine it’s your hand around my dick, stroking me fast then slow, fast, slow…” The demon’s breathing was picking up. Yes, good. If he just focused on Cas… 

That was better. The words were better. Silent Crowley was not Crowley. Silent Crowley was an abomination unto the Lord. Silent Crowley made his skin crawl ~~and the voices inside his own head harder to deny~~. He peered with an almost detached level of interest, eyes briefly flickering down to the demon’s hands, but then back up to his face.

“You would not mind if I burned them from the inside out? For daring to touch _my_ consort?” He would do it, too. He was a jealous God. He was not happy that Crowley had once given his screams, his pleasure, to anyone but him. Crowley should have known he would be claimed one day. He should have realised he was waiting to belong. _Castiel had_.

“Why would I mind? You’re the only one I care about, angel. You should know that. I belong to you. I don’t care what you do to anyone else.” As much as Crowley liked this jealous side of Castiel, it was also slightly scary. He could see his angel would do it. He would track down everyone and smite them. But damn, when he was smiting… the way he glowed… he stroked faster, twisting, and not daring to look away from Cas. 

“Are your hands as good as mine?” the angel asked. He was… it was starting to fit into place a little better, again. Starting to feel right. That strange, tightening heat. That rush of blood through his vessel. “Or do you wish I was touching you?”

“My hands don’t compare to yours - I will always wish for your hands on me instead of my own... I told them, you know. I told them about us.”

The slow, strange building heat hit a brick wall. Castiel’s face was a porcelain doll’s, utterly still and expressionless. “You did… what?”

“I told the Winchesters and Bobby about us.” Crowley was terrified. He was also determined to keep it from showing on his face. “I told them that we love each other. Well - in so many words. But it was obvious. That you did this for them and they should appreciate it and show a little respect to their new God.”

The demon… _told them_. His once-charges. He’d told them like it was something to be proud of. ~~_Nothing to be proud of in you. You’re weak. You’re breaking. You were never made for this._~~ Told them… _that they were in love_. The meaning behind it reached in past the cold in his chest, closing the distance between the moment and the angel, pulling him back into reality with a jolt. Again was he Castiel. Again was he **himself** , and he remembered those stolen nights of bliss. Remembered kisses pressed against the wall, with hands moving like the world might end at any moment. Remembered the **ache** in his chest.

In a blink, the angel was on the bed, too. Was sitting astride his demon’s hips, hands around his face, gazing down at him like the seraph he had once been. Memories of quiet, hopeful confessions when they were just enemies who had fallen in love, when they were not the most powerful creatures on the planet. He ran his thumbs at the corners of the demon’s mouth, pulling them into a smile that matched his own. His chest _hurt_. “I **do** ,” he insisted. “I love you, my King. I love only you.” 

Cas pulled Crowley up, as he bent down… kisses that pressed against the edges of his lips, that ended up with his tongue stroking over the line of Crowley’s mouth, that finished with his tongue sliding inside. He fucked his mouth as he’d done his ass, so many times. It all _hurt_.

The demon was relieved - that could have gone so _very_ badly. He gave up touching himself in favour of wrapping his arms around his angel as they kissed, pulling him closer. 

“I love you, too, angel. Only you. So much.”

“I want to take you, demon. I want to take you, so you know you’re mine. I want to write my name inside of you and out. I want to lick myself all over you…” There was that heat that came in like a sudden electrical storm, impossible to deny. Of course Crowley would make him feel like himself again. Of _course_. A finger and thumb tilting the demon’s chin, more kisses because he couldn’t not. “Are you ready for me, or should we push our fingers in together, to make you _right_?”

“Of course I’m ready for you, but can we push our fingers in together, anyway?” This was better. This was his Cas. _His_ Cas - his angel. Perhaps he wasn’t as wayward as the demon had thought…

Castiel found the demon’s hand with his own, and nodded. He blinked away his own clothes (because waiting was no longer an option) and urged Crowley to roll onto his side, facing away. He pulled Crowley’s hand back and down, and wrapped his own fingers around the demon’s fist, guiding just one finger back inside. This way he could watch. This way he could see Crowley’s finger vanishing into that welcoming hole. He grinned, because he knew it felt good. Of course it felt good. Little kisses to his shoulders, to the back of his neck. 

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Cas whispered. “It hurts me to stare at you.”

“How can I be the most beautiful thing when the title is already taken by you, angel?” he grinned, pushing up just a bit for a little more contact with Castiel. The combination of the power high he couldn’t come down from and Cas being Cas again was making him lightheaded already… lightheaded and needy for _more_.

"Because I don't look at myself, you smooth talker." He buried a smile against the demon's nape, pushing his finger in alongside Crowley's, rubbing their fingertips together inside of him. "Don't deflect when I'm trying to compliment you. Don't you realise what it means for me to love you? Don't you understand I've never felt like this before?"

Cas swallowed and bit his own lip. "I would never have survived, without you. I might be God, but you saved me."

Crowley groaned at the feel of both of their fingers inside of him. It felt good, right. "I'm sorry, my God. I've never felt this way before, either... it's a different feeling... thinking so much more of someone than you do of yourself. I love you more than anyone or anything ever, Cas. I may have saved you, but you managed to save me as well." 

The demon searched for his angel's lips, needing them against his own. His tongue ran along his angel's pink pout before slipping inside his hot mouth. "I need you, Cas." A breathy whisper, muffled by the kisses.

"Together... we are unstoppable. With you by my side nothing can stand before me. You make me fight. You make me strong. But more than that... You are my something worth fighting for." He'd lost sight of it in his righteous fury. He'd been caught up in all the punishment.

"Are you ready? May I love you now, or should I...." he wriggled a third finger in, sandwiching the demon's, "open you more before I enter you, my King?"

"You are mine, my love. You are mine."

Another moan unbefitting of the King of Hell at that third finger. "Please, Cas, my angel... please fuck me now. I can't wait any longer. _Please_."

"Of course, my demon, of course." He pulled their hands free and then laid flush to the demon's back, bending his knees up and forcing Crowley to do the same so they could spoon in close. A hand on his hip and with a careful rocking forwards, he slipped between his thighs and in.

Cas found the demon's hand and lifted it to kiss his knuckles. "I told you I would always come home to you. You are my safe haven."

Crowley breathed his angel's name as he pushed inside of him. "You are mine. You are the one thing that keeps me grounded, Cas. I love you so much."

For the moment, Crowley could forget about the strange feeling of the souls inside clawing and _scratching_ , trying to free themselves. For the moment they were just Crowley and Cas again. Just two beings made for one another. In love. Together. 

It was strangely easier to go at a measured pace like this, to roll up against him then let gravity pull him back. There was still that urgency, but coupled it faded down at first. Cas ran their joined hands down over Crowley's chest, and he wrapped Crowley's hand around his own dick.

“Humans could never understand, you know. Not like we do. They are so... so much lesser. You cannot blame them. Not really. You see the big picture. The long term. The needful things. I pity them. I pity their weak minds." Another kiss. "Stroke yourself now, Crowley. Show my hand what you need most."

Hearing Cas talk down about humans hit his ear wrong, but the demon chose to ignore it in favour of the kiss and the order from his angel. He wrapped his hand around his aching cock, stroking at a fast pace right off the bat because he _really_ needed the friction and the release it promised.

“I want you to stroke me fast, your hand feels so much better than mine, angel. Please, will you stroke me like this?”

“I will,” Cas promised, “but not until you beg me enough, Crowley. I want to hear your beautiful voice. I want to hear the need in your words. I want to hear you _break_ with wanting, Crowley. Sing for me…”

“Cas… angel… _please_. I need you. I need your hand sliding up and down on my cock. I need to feel the heat from your vessel wrapped tight around me. I **need** it, Cas. I need you to make me come crying out to you, my angel, _my God_. Please, God, _please _.”__

__How could Castiel refuse such earnest, heartfelt prayers? How could he ignore the smoke-deep longing? He was a kind, loving, caring God. He was a God of forgiveness, of second chances. His lips rasped along the curve of Crowley’s throat, to the place where it joined his shoulder. He breathed in deeply, then wrapped his lips around and _bit_. He held on with a growl, hips barely moving as he slammed his hand instead, making Crowley squirm in his lap and on his dick instead. Making the demon _writhe_ , caught between his crotch and hand. His tongue ran over the skin between his teeth, and then he started to suck a firm, pink mark into his flesh, wanting it to sting. Wanting it to _mark_._ _

__Crowley’s eyes snapped shut, a drawn out _fuck_ leaving his lips. Castiel was leaving a mark on the demon - one that neither of them would bother to heal - to show that the King of Hell served God and God alone. _ _

__“Cas, my _God_... **yes** ,” he hissed. “Please… please… I’m so close, Cas. Please let me come for you.”_ _

__Cas’ hand whipped up, grabbing the demon’s perfect throat, tilting his head back over Cas’ shoulder, _pressing_ until he knew it would start to choke the air out of him, so that he could feel every last little gaspy breath, every whimpered moan, every **God** that escaped the demon’s lips. “Not until I say so,” he snapped, and then he looped a leg over Crowley’s, holding him still so he could screw harder into him, his poor cock bouncing untouched between them. “Not until I _command_ it. Do you understand?”_ _

__Crowley might’ve whimpered were his air supply not almost cut off. The absence of a hand around his dick was painful, but _God_ it felt so good as Cas slammed into him harder now. _ _

__“Yes.” More of a hiss than a word, really. He didn’t dare move to touch himself for fear that his angel would cease all activity. “Please?” he managed. “God… _please_.”_ _

__He was nearly there. Nearly there. His lover’s body so welcoming and warm, the sounds of their shared bliss shooting all through his nerves like a shot to the vein. Cas **needed**. He needed him so much. So much it was making _everything_ else - all the voices, all the prayers, all the whispered ~~_letusout_~~ fade into the background. Crowley’s voice. Crowley’s rich, deep, resonant voice. Cas lifted from biting, kissing at the mark that didn’t seem to fade, and reached down between his demon’s legs._ _

__“ **Show me how you love me** ,” he barked. “Show me now. Come, Crowley. Scream hallelujah…” _ _

__Crowley gave into the feeling coiling inside of him, the one only Cas was responsible for. “Cas… angel…” he breathed. “Oh **God**! Hallelujah to my God and Him alone!” _ _

__He only saw white light as Cas jacked him over the edge, making him cry out as he spilled on his angel’s hand. He was buzzing with all of the feelings and the **power** that was seeming to feed off of Castiel being so intimately _close_. Another string of _fucks_ and _Iloveyous_ , quieter now, followed by a breathy moan. “ _Cas_.”_ _

__The angel-God beat hard and fast and furious, not letting up in the slightest even as the demon came with a cry. If anything, he went faster - more cruel - intent on wringing every last bit of bliss from the body he’d stolen but which was so utterly, utterly _him_. It was… wonderful to watch. To feel. “Yes,” he whispered, low and reverent. “Just like that.”_ _

__And when the demon could give no more, he rolled them over, so he was face-down on the bed. So he could grip his waist and shoulder, so he could drive into him so hard the very bed itself rocked and slammed into the wall. Another, another, another… and then with a growl that was all _Crowley_ , he sank his teeth into the back of his neck and came, deep inside his King._ _

__“Cas! _Fuckfuckfuck_.” The sheets of the bed were balled up in the demon’s fists as his angel growled his name, spilling inside of him. He tried to relax his hands and let go of the sheet, but he also didn’t want to move for fear of losing this moment. Cas buried deep inside of him, the demon’s name on the angel-God’s beautiful, beautiful lips… it was so very… _them_. _ _

__Losing this moment meant back to feeling like a pressure cooker ready to pop, to feeling the souls scratching away, trying to get out, worrying about his angel who seemed to be a little **off**._ _

__So Crowley didn’t move. He just stayed where he was, sprawled out on his stomach, gripping the sheets. “I love you, Cas.” His voice was so quiet it could barely be considered a whisper._ _

__Cas grabbed hold of Crowley’s hands, unwilling to move, either. The wonderful lax, buzzed feeling seeping through his vessel, telling him it was a job well done. He purred over Crowley’s sweat-slick skin, cuddling in tight. He could stay like this for a while without crushing him, could blanket him and hold him still and down. Could just… _be_. Not God. Not for a bit. Just… Cas._ _

__“I love you too, Crowley,” he told him, careful not to break the fragile air that was like fine-spun glass. “I always will.”_ _


	34. Chapter 34

Cecily flounced into the King’s office and sat down across from him with a wide, accomplished grin. 

“Cecily,” he smiled. “Tell me, darling, what’s new?”

She handed him a small folder full of graphs, stats and charts. “Same ol’ same ol’. How are _you_ doing with all that extra power?” She didn’t try to hide her pride - that or she couldn’t.

“Peachy keen, jelly bean. Hell’s stablised, I’m making it even **more** efficient… things are going well, sweetheart.”

The younger demon studied Crowley for a moment. “--Are you… are you _sure_?” she lifted a finger to her own cheek. The same place on Crowley’s cheek looked like an open wound… sort of like a burn - one that started from the inside. 

Crowley moved a finger to the spot on his own cheek, slightly shocked at the sting that accompanied the touch. “Oh, that’s nothing, just a minor side effect…”

Cecily nodded. “Uh huh… so… you’re not going to explode or anything, right? Because that seems highly likely. Your meatsuit is just a human body… they weren’t meant to contain something so… _powerful_. And I totes don’t wanna see my King exploded into tiny bits.”

“Don’t you worry, ducky. Your King plans to hang around for quite some time. One minor side effect isn’t gonna stop me.”

“Alright… you know what you’re doin’. I just don’t wanna see you destroyed.”

“No worries, darling. If you’ll excuse me, though, I do have some rather pressing matters to attend to. Same time, same place next week, yes?”

“Absolutely,” Cecily smiled, standing and smoothing her black skirt down, tugging at the hem of her shirt, pulling it the slightest bit down to reveal more cleavage than necessary. If he was going to explode, he could at least have a nice image to remember, right?

Crowley stood and led Cecily out, giving that cleavage a bit of a lingering glance, though it did little to nothing for him. After she had waved a flirty goodbye, he shut the door and leaned back against it. He pressed his finger to the spot on his cheek. It stung. He blinked a full length mirror into existence and inspected his face closely. 

Damn. Is that what had been itching so? He hadn’t really thought to check it. He just assumed it was internal. Perhaps he should check the other places that had been bothering him. In an instant, his upper body was bare. There were spots on his hands, his arms, his chest… this might have been a bad idea…

His meatsuit certainly wasn’t built for this much juice, that was certain. Cecily was right. At least for the moment, things were manageable. They were safe. He and Castiel had won. They had done what they set out to do. The only question that remained was… how long could they contain these souls? _Could they_ contain these souls?

The King of Hell had no idea.

But he knew someone who **might**.

***

Cas appeared once more in Crowley’s office, looking more worse for the wear than the King of Hell. The demon poured himself a drink, offering one to Castiel.

The once-angel held his hand up and shook his head _no_. 

Crowley shrugged. “More for me. So… how are things going upstairs, sweetheart?” Perhaps if he displayed a cheery disposition, things would be… well… more cheery?

Castiel lifted his chin into the air, eyes drifting over the demon carefully. He felt like he was vibrating between the power surging ~~and the voices~~ and the _sheer demand_ for God.   
“Heaven is fine. It’s Earth that’s the problem. So many prayers… so few righteous anymore. It’s a sad state of affairs, Crowley.” ~~Do you hear the voices, too?~~

“Well… in that case,” he said raising his glass. “Here’s to the righteous, hmm?” 

Castiel narrowed his eyes, heaving a sigh. 

“Not in the mood for jokes today, I see.” The demon rubbed at the spot on his arm that was itching from the inside out. “Cas… I’ve been meaning to ask… how’s your vessel handling all this power?”

“I’m fine, Crowley.”

“Really? Because I kind of feel… I don’t know… all… itchy… like the souls are in there, scratching away, trying to break out… you don’t feel that?”

The angel-God’s eye twitched slightly. “No.” A flat-out lie. He itched and burned as the souls, the _voices_ , clawed and screamed and yelled for freedom that he would not give.

“I couldn’t help but notice, I was cracking a bit,” he said, pointing to his cheek. “You’re starting to get a similar look, love. I just wonder… you know… how long before our moronic human bodies can’t cope. What happens next?”

“I will heal myself and you, Crowley. Just as soon as I finish the work that demands my attention immediately.”

“Right, but… all I’m saying is… there’s a lot the old God left to be fixed and well, these vessels - meatsuits - whatever… they’re not built for the amount of power you and I now hold.”

“Do you doubt me, demon?”

“No, of course, not. I was merely concerned about you, my God. I hate to see you suffer for no reason.” 

Castiel was in front of Crowley in a split second, thumb pressed _hard_ into the open wound on the demon’s cheek. Crowley hissed.

“Do not doubt me, my beautiful demon. I will make you flawless once more. As soon as I’m done with the work I have before me. Do you understand?”

Crowley breathed _yes_ through clenched teeth. 

“Good.” A soft kiss to the demon’s forehead and before Cas moved his thumb away, he healed the spot on his King’s cheek. “I have work to do.”

It was no surprise to Crowley when the angel-God vanished without another word.

***

“So you see,” Crowley explained to Death after he had summoned him. “I’m wondering… is it even possible to maintain like this?”

Death sat with both hands resting on his cane. He thought for a moment. “It is not possible, Crowley. I think you know that, deep down. Calling me here was a cry for help, wasn’t it? The angel is not doing well, either.”

“It seems our meatsuits are wearing a bit thin… I know my - I know the angel… and he won’t give them up. Not willingly.”

“Is that why you’ve summoned me here? To control the new God?”

“You’re the only who can.”

“That is true. Why should I help you again? I’ve already helped once, haven’t I? Why should I not let you be destroyed? This is, after all, your own doing.”

“I am aware… and I’ve no good reason aside from the fact that there should be a balance of good and evil… of Heaven and Hell. They should complement one another. We were a bit foolish, yes. But everyone does that every now and then, don't they? Well… not _you_... the rest of us morons, anyway.”

Death thought for a few moments, letting Crowley stew. “I can give you another eclipse in two days' time. Put the souls back, and **don’t** do anything this foolish ever again.”

Crowley felt like he was a child being scolded, but - in all honesty - it was the most gracious thing Death could’ve done. “What if I can’t get him to agree?”

“I trust you’ll find a way.”

And Death - much like his angel - vanished without another word.

***

Sinners Castiel could handle. Sinners made sense. They saw what was right, and what was wrong, and they chose the wrong thing. He did not approve of their decisions, of course, but they were their own to make. What he _could not abide by_ were the liars. The ones who took his name as an excuse to spread hatred, the ones who preached one thing and practiced another, the ones who… _deceived_.

~~_Castiel… you are not God. You are lying to yourself, like you lied to the humans. You are weak, Castiel. You cannot contain us forever. Let us go. Let us **go.**_ ~~

This one was vile. This one was beyond vile. Around his feet had gathered countless children. They were innocents. They knew no better. They flocked to his tales, to his guidance, to his leadership. _Do not talk to strange people_ , he told them. _Do not take candy from people you do not know_ , he said, too. _Always make sure you’re safe_.

But they were not safe, were they? Not here, around this campfire, with their marshmallows and their fires and their little upturned faces. He was a **monster** , fit only for Hell itself. He hadn’t touched any of these children… not yet. But he had watched them with lustful eyes over their youthful forms. He had admired the curve of their calves, the bumps both front and back in their shorts. He’d stared at their young, unformed mouths and he’d _coveted_ them. He’d gone onto his computer and he’d read and written things. He’d _watched_ things. He was… he was **disgusting**.

“You call yourself a _teacher_ ,” he threw at the Scout Master’s face, a hand and a thought holding him aloft from afar. “These young ones _looked up to you_.” 

It was important they knew, somehow. It was important they _bore witness_. “But you are **wicked**. You are vile. You are **scum**. You should apologise to these boys.”

Under his mental grip, the human’s face was going livid red. His hands clawed at a constriction that was not there, his eyes starting to bulge under the pressure. It was… satisfying. Watching him squirm. Watching him _suffer_. He could see the man’s tongue starting to loll, his eyes glazing over. He could not apologise like this, but nothing he could say would repair the damage he had done to these children’s faith. Harder and harder he squeezed, and by his feet the children cowered. As they should. As it was right. They should realise they were in the presence of true justice, of judgement pure and simple.

“He would hurt you, you know. He would hurt you and claim it was love. It is not love. It is depraved. You are children, not… _toys_.”

The man was foaming, now, and there was an unearthly bubbling noise coming from him. Cas turned back to look. “Witness what happens to those of you who sin,” he told the children and the horrified other adults, all frozen into place.

Another squeeze and there was a wet _pop_ and a harsh _crunch_. His grip went right through the trachea, the jugular, the spine. Blood rained down everywhere like cleansing fire, and then the Scout Master’s head exploded in a _SNAP_ , leaving more destruction in its wake. He wanted there to be nothing left of that horrid brain, those traitorous eyes. He wanted no lips that had uttered falsehoods, no fake smiles. 

Distantly, he was aware of screaming. One of the younger children was screaming. He was screaming over and over and over, his eyes opened wide to the sin, of course. From their torpor, one of the other supervising adults went to hold him, but the boy was inconsolable. He screamed and beat his fists into the adult’s chest, and Castiel frowned.

“Silence,” he ordered. “This was necessary.”

“You… you… _murdered him_ ,” one of the Scouts whispered, his voice raw. It was not filled with gratitude at being saved. It was filled with… fear. Fear and… loathing.

“I saved you,” Castiel snapped, his attention turning to the usurper. The Scout shuffled back on his rear, trying to get away. “I saved you from his lecherous hands and eyes. I _protected you_.”

But the boy would say no more, struck dumb and terrified.

Why didn’t they see? Why did no one see?

“Please,” the man holding the screeching child begged. “Please… don’t hurt the children. Please. Whoever you are… just go. We won’t… we won’t tell the police what you look like. Just let them go.”

“I came to **save them** ,” he repeated, advancing on the new threat. “You should throw yourself prostate to me and beg my clemency. You, too, are not without sin. You, too, have erred from the path of righteousness…”

“ **Please** , if - just - not in front of the children!”

And Castiel looked down again. Every last child looked as if he had ripped the innocence clean from their minds, as surely as the Scout Master would have, had he ever acted on those secret things inside of his mind. But he had done it for love, and the Scout Master was nothing but a _paedophile_. Why did they think he was going to kill them all? He could. He could snap his fingers and end them all. But why would he do it? What purpose did it serve?

“This was only ever to save them,” he insisted, taking a step back. “It was only ever to save them.”

And Castiel left, before anything else got the better of him again.


	35. Chapter 35

“Balthazar.” Castiel knew the angel had heard him. He knew that he was aware of his presence. He waited for him to acknowledge his God. He had to know that Castiel was _displeased_.

“Cassie,” Balthazar greeted, waving a champagne flute. There were traces of glitter on his cheeks, and lipstick on his throat: the angel had been celebrating. Again. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Did you think that Crowley would conceal your attempt to betray me?”

The angel looked down at the floor, then back up to Castiel. “Ah, yes… that. I was actually certain he would _not_. I was hoping that maybe - just maybe - he might. But here we are.”

“Here we are. And you have betrayed me… twice.”

“ _Betrayed_ is such a strong word… I prefer… ‘looking out for you.’ Much more pleasant sounding.”

“And a lie.”

“Listen, Cas. I don’t see what the big deal is. Water under the bridge now. You’ve got your souls, the world is still spinning… Can’t we all just get along?”

“You _lied_ , Balthazar. You have **twice** attempted to sabotage me and my plans. You _constantly_ \--” ~~_he’s there, staring at you, he knows, he knows, he knows_~~ “--second-guess me… We were friends, once, but you are **not** my friend.”

“What you call _’sabotaging’_ , I call looking out for my **friend’s** best interests. I was only worried about you, Cassie. Honestly - I thought you wouldn’t be able to handle it… and yet, here you are, proving me wrong…” The angel took a couple of steps backwards, attempting to look nonchalant about it as he waved a hand towards Castiel, deflecting his ire obsequiously.

Anger flared in the once-seraph’s blue eyes. Anger and hurt. “Stop backing away from me, Balthazar. Stop running away. If you are loyal and true, you have nothing to fear from a just and fair God.”

“Of course I’m loyal…” Though he raised an eyebrow at the God comment, his voice showed nothing but respect. “Honestly, Castiel. If I thought ill of you, would I have shown the first time you called for me?”

“You must know that I would find you, wherever you went. You must know that I would _find. You._ ” There was a threat in the tone, open and plain.

Balthazar laughed a bit more nervously than he would’ve liked. “Well. All of that aside… why _did_ you call me here, mate?”

“I wanted to see if you would confess your sins. If you would… repent.”

The angel nodded. “I see…” Another slow nod. “I’m sorry that you see my worry and concern for you as a sin. As that is the case, then, please... _forgive me_ ,” he bowed over the crystal flute, eyes on the seraph-God as he did.

“You mock me.” Castiel’s gaze was hard. “Even now, you mock me. I have given you too many chances, Balthazar. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, I gave you the opportunity for redemption, where others would have given you none. And… this is how you repay me?”

“I’m far from mocking you, Cassie. If I _was_ , you’d know it. And you **know** that I am not.” Balthazar was panicking. He was aware that all Castiel had to do was merely look at him and he would be exploded to bits.

“I cannot rely on you. I can never rely on you. You know that, don’t you?” He looked… sad. “I wanted to. I did. But you leave me with no choice…”

Balthazar put his hands up, motioning for Castiel to stop. “Now, hold on a minute, ducky. You most certainly _do_ have a choice… you can forgive my erroneous judgement and show your bounteous mercy.”

“I have done. I have already done so. How many second chances should I give you? One day, your plans to usurp me… might cause me more inconvenience. No, Balthazar. I wish it could be some other way, but I must--” his fingers lifted to snap.

With a frantic flap of wings, Balthazar disappeared. With any luck, he could evade Castiel long enough for the poor bloke to… well… he didn’t really want to think about it - he just wanted to go on living. And it was clear that was not going to be an option around Castiel, not any more.

***

Cecily had just sat down on her couch, her black cat hopping up gracefully onto her lap. 

“You wanna watch the news with me, AJ?” she smiled, scritching between the cat’s ears as she turned on the television. 

Lots of the same… but she was most interested in the newest segment _God Gone Wild_. It highlighted the latest developments in the inexplicably powerful man in the trenchcoat who performed miracles and was able to kill people without ever touching them.

Her face fell when she saw it… it seemed like perhaps a bit too far… even for a demon - well. She wasn’t exactly as demonic as some, she liked to think she took after Crowley on that front.

She sat up, placing AJ to the side as she listened intently. 

“He exploded a dude in front of all the little kids?” she gasped out loud. 

Crowley _had_ to know about this. She logged onto her computer, gathering every shred of information on the event and headed down to Hell. She was hoping beyond all hope that he would be out when she slipped the packet of information under his office door. When he didn’t immediately appear to stop her, she assumed she’d gotten lucky and headed back to her apartment topside.

Was it just her sympathizing with her King, or had the angel… God - whatever he was - gone too far this time? She could tell that the power was tearing the two apart. She could see it in Crowley’s eyes, hear it in his tone. Not to mention, there was the physical toll it was taking on the both of them. The more Castiel appeared in the news, the more damage he was beginning to show - not unlike Crowley. The sooner they got this mess sorted out the better. 

***

The packet under the door to his office was no doubt from Cecily. That in itself was not a surprise. The contents of said packet were more so. Crowley stared it, hoping it would go away - that it would disappear. Exploding a man - even a paedophile - in front of a group of _children_?

This was too much… the old Cas would **never** have done something like that. Wouldn’t even have considered it!

He needed to get this show on the road. Death’s special eclipse was coming up faster than he intended and he hadn’t even approached Castiel about it.

It was time for an intervention.

“Castiel, my God, my angel…” he said, to the room in general, “fancy a chat?”

Castiel came when Crowley called. He always did, now, if he could. He arrived - blood still on his coat from his latest mission, his newest miracle - and his head canted to one side. “You appear…. troubled. Have the humans bothered you again, Crowley?”

Crowley chuckled. “No, not this time, love… how are you feeling, darling?”

“I--” A swallow, a conscious denial of noise. “--am fine. Fine.” 

Crowley nodded. Of course he was deep, deep in denial. The demon had flirted with denial, but other people - demons… _Death_ … - pointing out that he was cracking? That he was close the breaking point? He could only turn a blind eye for so long.

“I saw an interesting story on the news today…” The King poured himself a glass of Craig, trying to ignore the open sore on his hand thanks to those bloody souls trying to break out.

“You should know the mass media is filled with lies and propaganda… but go on.”

A small smile crossed the demon’s lips. “Well… it was about you, angel. Exploding a man - regardless of his sin - in front of an entire Boy Scout troop? Is that really what happened?”

A frown. “It was necessary.” Had felt good. “They needed to know the truth. Needed to know how close to harm they had come. Needed to know… I _care_.”

“Perhaps they needed to know, I’ll agree with you there. But Cas… _really_? They’re just kids and you obliterated a man in front of them… you don’t see the error--” _in your judgement?_

Now Castiel’s face showed anger. “I am the Lord your God, Crowley. Show some respect for my judgement.”

“It’s not that I’m disrespecting your judgement, my Lord. I’m just… _I’m_ wearing a bit thin and I think… it would be best - for the both of us - if we were to… you know… put the souls back?” 

Put them… back? After two years’ of work? Put them **back**? They had worked so hard, sacrificed so much. They had given everything to the cause. Why, now, would they surrender, in the middle of their victory? ~~Why bow to the screaming inside his head?~~

“If you cannot handle your side, then by all means… _give them to me…_.” He blinked, and he was closer. A hand up to run the backs of his knuckles over the demon’s splintering skin. “You… are no angel, Crowley. You were not made to shine this brightly.” He leaned in to his ear. “ _I was_.”

As terrified as was - whether he’d admit it or not - his angel’s voice in his ear sent shivers down his spine in the good way… well in the bad way, too this time.

“Castiel… please. I’m begging you…” Crowley ran his fingers over the back of his angel’s hand. The skin was cracking and peeling just like his own. “This isn’t a good indicator, love.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel lied. He had been deliberately not looking. Not surveying the wreckage of his vessel. He must be disgusting. He must be… unclean. The darkness of Purgatory trying to out-shine his own light. But if he just… tried hard enough. He flinched from Crowley’s hand. 

“ _Enough_. Have you no faith in your God?”

Crowley didn’t flinch. He didn’t let the fear show, he just gazed at his angel like he had done so many times before. Even with the broken vessel, literally stretching apart before his eyes, Crowley still saw the old Cas, his angel… he was still in there. 

“I have every faith in you, my God. What I don’t have faith in, is the unclean filth we brought out of Purgatory. It’s tearing apart your vessel and my own meatsuit, Cas. Don’t you see? Don’t you see what it’s doing? It’s changing us _both_ and **not** for the better.”

“ _I_ am better. I am **God**.” If he said it loud enough, perhaps he would believe it? Perhaps he would consider it to be true? “The souls are… a means to an end. I need them. I need them to survive. If I must, I will resume my true form before I surrender the power in them.”

The God shoved Crowley’s hands away, took a step back. “You disappoint me, Crowley. I thought… I thought you were different.”

The demon felt his heart shatter as Cas stepped back. “Angel… come on. Look at what it’s doing to your vessel!” A large mirror appeared with a wave of his hand in front of Castiel. “Don’t you get it? The souls are doing the opposite of what we intended. They are making us _both_ weaker.”

The mirror shattered with a snap of fingers, the seraph-God not even looking. He knew what he would see. He knew. He did not want the evidence before his eyes. “ _Enough_ ,” came the warning bellow. “You will give me all those souls. It was wrong to let you have them. I should have taken them all, as I thought at the time. I had thought you would manage, but I over-estimated you. I see, now, that my feelings for you left me blind and weak.”

A bright, sudden flare of light around his Grace, but it wasn’t blue, there. Not like it normally was. More and more blackness. More and more darkness. Fear sparked in his eyes and then was chased down. 

“I am… not… **weak**.” Not a baby in a trenchcoat. Not ‘just a seraph’. Not useless, not secondary, not… He was **God**. ~~He was **mad**~~.

Crowley was scared - terrified, really. This was not his angel. This was something else... something... _evil_. More evil than anything the demon had seen in awhile.

"You're right, Cas. You're not weak. Not at all. Which is why you don't _need_ those souls. Please... let's both put them back where they belong so we can get back to ourselves... angel, _please_..."

“You’re just the same as Sam, Dean, Bobby… _Balthazar_. You’re jealous. You’re jealous of my power. Of my **strength**.” The blue-black bruise sparked brighter, and the angel-who-would-be-God pulled out his wings. He was terrifying. He was Old Testament. He was ready to _smite_. Crowley was a demon, and he should never have let him take the souls, lover or not. He should have taken them all himself as a _mercy_ , not from greed. 

He gestured with his hand, and Crowley was sent slamming into the wall - hard enough to make it crack, to hurl him into masonry dust and chipped bricks. “ **I am in control!”** he hissed, and then his hand was up and glowing _hotwhiteblueblackGrace_ , but then he looked up and saw… fear? Fear and… hurt? 

Crowley?

His eyes flickered down to his hand. What, exactly, was he doing? Was he going to rip the souls from him, or - or - _no_. Stung, he faltered back, and the eyes that lifted to Crowley’s were haunted.

The demon was hurt indeed. In more ways than one. The only thing capable of causing him any real kind of physical - and emotional - pain stood before him.

The eyes were not the bright blue eyes of his angel. Oh no. They were dark and old - so much older than Castiel. Crowley looked up through the window to glance at the eclipse Death had promised.

It was now or never. He wiped away the blood dripping into his eye with the back of his hand. He stood, clutching at his back, certain it was broken.

"Last chance, Cas. I'm begging you, please... I love you, angel."

He spoke the words they had fought so hard to find, even as the God-angel watched in horror. One snap and he would be ended. Like Raphael. The sigil on the wall glowed as he neared the end. Finally, the souls inside the King of Hell were sucked back into Purgatory - back to where they belonged - in a stream of white light.

Crowley collapsed on the floor; he felt even worse than he had a moment ago. The pain was excruciating, but he looked up at Castiel.

" _Please_."

Why would Crowley do that? Why would he surrender the _power_? It was no trick. He could see the souls leaving his meatsuit, he could see that all that was left was demon and body. Broken body. Broken and bleeding and ruined, because of him. He could see that Crowley was suffering. It wasn’t a trick. It wasn’t a lie. Even _Crowley_ knew that this was wrong. 

And then he realised… _he had done that_. He had hurt him. Crowley. The only being who had trusted him, who had stuck with him, who had believed in him. **Crowley**. The shame, the distress welled up and cut through the chattering voices inside of his head. He’d won. He’d saved Heaven. He had Crowley. He did not need these souls.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” he said, his voice an anguished whisper, the weight of his actions heavy like a cross. He wanted to go to him, to heal him… but he had to get these souls out before he couldn’t. “I’m so sorry.”

A blip, and he was in front of the portal. Inside of him the voices - souls - creatures - called out in mixed joy and hate. He wasn’t sure if they wanted to go back or not. They would have no choice. Castiel went to the portal, to the glowing entrance to that dark and ugly place, and he staggered as they left him with a whoosh. Down to one knee, he went, then he was out like a light on the floor: dead to the world.

The demon watched as Cas fell to the floor in what seemed like slow motion. “Cas!” He tried to get up, tried to stand, but he just _couldn't_. “ **Cas!** ”

With every ounce of strength he had, he started to slowly, painfully, pull himself across the floor to where his angel had fallen. _Please be okay, please be okay, please. Be. Okay._

He made it, surprisingly, to where the angel had collapsed. He reached a hand out to Castiel’s face. “Angel?”

For long, long moments the vessel was still, cold, and breathless. There was no sign of life from within what once had been Jimmy Novak, and of late had been Castiel: angel, seraph, and God. No sign that he was still there, just dead silence. And then - from nowhere - those blue eyes opened in his pale face, and Castiel awoke with a start.

He turned his face to the demon - his King - expression filled with regret and sorrow. “Crowley. Please. Forgive me. I… I don’t…”

But then he realised what he’d _done_. The demon was broken, still. It was awful. He could _feel_ the pain radiating from him, and he put his hand over the one on his face, pushing with his Grace to restore and heal as much as he was capable of. He felt weak, now. Weak and empty, but the urgency with which he threw what remained of his light threatened to overwhelm him. “ _Forgive me_. Please forgive me.”

The white hot Grace _burned_ like salt in an open wound. But just as quickly as it came, it was done and Crowley felt… better. Weak… very weak. But better. He sat up, looking at his angel, offering him a small smile.

“Of course I forgive you, kitten. It wasn’t you that-- it wasn’t my angel.”

“I am so ashamed, Crowley. If you hadn’t-- if--” He clutched that hand tighter, lifting it to his lips to kiss it. He burned with how **wrong** he had been. How very, very wrong. “I--”

But then he stopped. Stopped and his vision seemed to go, somehow, as if he was looking inside. He was on his feet in a heartbeat. _No_.

Crowley stood as fast as the angel did. “What’s wrong?” His eyes searching the room - did something escape or not make it back through the portal?

“I-- something held on, Crowley, it-- something’s still inside of me…” He glanced over at the closed portal, and he knew he was fucked. He backed off, hands up. “ _Run_ , Crowley. Run! They’re too strong. I can’t-- I can’t hold them back…” The angel doubled over in pain, grunting at the effort to hold them back. It hurt. It **hurt** as the _darkness_ inside of him surged like a giddy, mad wave.

The demon looked once more at the portal and back to Cas. “What-- you can’t hold _what_ back?”

Cas started backing up, his hands clenching into fists, his eyes panicked. His breathing heavy as he fought to keep control for long enough that Crowley could make his escape. _They were strong_ and now he had nothing else there to drown them out, the chattering, laughing, **screaming** was becoming impossible to ignore. And suddenly he knew. Suddenly he knew what was inside of him, bubbling to get out. “ **Leviathan** ,” he whispered, his voice terrified. “Crowley, please! I don’t want to hurt you again! Please go, I can’t-- I-- I CAN’T…”

The angel bent in half, a horrible _creaking_ sound from deep within, as something… **gave way**.

But Crowley wasn’t going to leave. Not now. Not when Castiel needed him the most. Leviathans? The Old Ones? The _first_ monsters? No matter how terrified he was of the things he saw in the angel’s eyes, if he left him now he might lose him forever.

“Cas… Cas you can fight this. I know you can. You threw those souls out, you can do it. **Don’t give up on me, Cas. Fight!** ”

“Too late!” The Leviathan in Castiel’s clothing smiled, tilting his head to the side. “Isn’t that just _adorable_?” he squeaked. “Little demon giving a pep talk to an angel. Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but Cas is gone.”

The Leviathan laughed, head dropping back. “Well… actually… by ‘gone’ I mean **dead**. But thanks for taking the time out of your day to _try_ to help.” What was once Castiel grabbed Crowley by the neck, pulling him close. “Silly little souls are one thing to fuck around with but _us_?” his laughter pealed through the air as he tossed the demon across the room like a ragdoll. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with. You call yourself a King? That’s funny - really, it is.” 

Not-Castiel crouched down next to Crowley on one knee. “You are officially the King of _Nothing_ because we run the show now.”

Crowley couldn’t help himself, his automatic reaction was to cower. This… this was _old_. **Dangerous**. No wonder the angel had started to crack around the edges, no wonder he had begun to fray at the seams. He swallowed hard, wondering what the Hell he could do against _this_.

“Hell? Oh, that little old thing? Ah… ah yes…” 

He was at a loss for words. On the one hand, if he angered this thing… who knew what it could do to him? But then he looked back at the face, split in a rictus of insane glee… and underneath the expression that would never be Castiel’s… his angel was there. **His** angel. He’d give up Hell, right now, if it brought him back. What was the point of a life, if you didn’t live it? He loved Castiel. Loved him. And he wasn’t about to give up on him that easily. Not after all they’d done.

“I know you’re still in there, Cas. I know you’re there, somewhere. Listen to me. Listen to my voice. You can fight them. You can throw them out. Come on, angel. **Come on**.” He was putting himself right in the firing line, he knew. He just had to hope there was enough of Thursday underneath all the filth to keep him safe. “Cas _please_!”

“Shut up. **SHUT. UP.** You really think that your voice can wake the dead? Because Cas is **dead**. And we do not need you.” The Leviathan’s hand wrapped tightly around Crowley’s neck, squeezing. There was a maniacal smile on his face and the raven-black blood - if you could call it _blood_ \- mapped out the veins on his neck as his head tilted to the side.

“He’s not dead,” Crowley said, staring into not-Cas’ eyes. “My angel is stronger than you know. He’s **not dead**.” He had to be alive. He had to, because the alternative? No. “I’ll prove it to you…”

It was insane. It really was, but Crowley wasn’t sure what else he could do. If Cas couldn’t hear him, he’d have to go find him. Under the hand around his throat, he threw his head back and _rushed_ out of his meatsuit in a whirlwind of red smoke. 

If Castiel wouldn’t come to the mountain, the mountain would go to Castiel. He was a demon, after all, and he didn’t need permission to possess the body. _It was going to be crowded_ , he thought, as he forced his way in through Jimmy Novak’s mouth.

The Leviathan had no choice but to let the demon in. It seemed foolish to think something as simple as a demon could get in like that. He let the meatsuit that held Crowley’s smoke fall to the floor.


	36. Chapter 36

Crowley blinked in confusion. He was inside of the body that was Castiel, but instead of - well, he wasn’t really sure what he expected, when he thought about it. An angel, Leviathan, and a demon - thank God Jimmy was long since gone - all inside of one vessel. It wasn’t as if he was trying to possess a human, after all. 

Instead, he was inside whatever passed for the collective subconscious of all the creatures inside. What happened when this many beings clambered up in one head? Apparently a dark and oppressive forest. Trees as high as the eye could see, and the sounds of whispers of beasts that stalked through the branches just to the side. _Purgatory_. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but Crowley just… knew. Purgatory. Dick had thrown his angel here, inside of his own mind. **Bastard.**

“Cas! Castiel! Where are you, angel? Please, don’t hide from me! I swear it’s me, Cas, it’s me…”

Although if it wasn’t him, wouldn’t not-him say the same thing? He shuddered at the noises - **teeth** , _claws_ , **_worse_** \- the sound of things that had not been seen on Earth in years. Crowley flicked his right wrist and an angel blade slid into his grasp. 

“Cas?”

Snarling. More snarling. From nowhere, something - something more dog than human - launched at him and Crowley put his arm up, using his elbow as a shield as he swung with the blade. Here he was powerless and weak, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t good at _surviving_ all the same. Fear made him fast and strong, and he slit the creature’s throat and didn’t even stop walking.

“CAS!”

Castiel looked around. He was powerless. But he did have his angel blade. He knew he was Purgatory and he knew he we being hunted.

So this was it, wasn't it? The end.

He had no time to muse about it before _something_ was lunging for him. All he saw was teeth before he slashed at the monster, angel blade sliding through its head with ease.

Oh, God. Had he ever fucked up. He could swear he heard Crowley's voice calling to him. He shook his head and started running. He didn't know where to, where from, he just knew he couldn't stay still.

_All you ever do is fuck up, Castiel._

A voice that wasn't the angel’s repeated that sentence over and over again as his feet carried him swiftly over the dead leaves.

Monster after monster chased him as he ran, but Crowley wasn't so sure if they were a product of the Leviathan's attempts to hurt him, or if it was the angel's own self-destructive streak. After all, he'd never done this before. Nothing remotely like this.

"Angel," he called again, aware he was making it easy for anything to find and hunt him, but not knowing what else he could do. "Angel it's me. It's the King. Please, I know you're here. We're stronger together. We always were. Cas... _please_."

A sound ahead, a growling and he broke out in a run - just in time to see the faltering light that was his love dispatch a Vampire - but there were more coming and he knew alone he had no chance. Crowley hurled himself towards the angel, taking out two of the beasts to wind up side by side with the seraph.

"Look out!"

"Crowley!" Cas grabbed his demon's hand and _ran_. Slaying monster after monster, the angel and the demon continued to keep on the move until they were allowed a moment's rest. 

He looked at the King, about to ask him what he was doing here, when the Leviathan appeared - still dressed as Castiel - with a grin plastered on his face. It was not a nice grin, and it turned the angel’s stomach to see it.

"I gotta hand it to you two. Very impressive. But," he said in a sing-song voice. "I'm pretty sure you won't last the night. After all, we've been pretty lenient, haven't we? Letting you escape all the creepy crawly monsters, huh?" The Leviathan wiggled his fingers with a hunch of his shoulders before bursting into laughter.

The angel's chest was heaving. "I don't understa--"

"Lemme guess," Not-Castiel interrupted. "You don't get it, do you? We told you... **We** run the show. Meaning... even though utility pulled a fast one on us, demon, we're stronger than the both of you, 'kay?" The Leviathan tilted his head with an evil grin. "Who's ready for more fun?"

"Don't listen to him, Cas, if he could end us he already would have." The demon hoped to God he was right about that. He could sense the power radiating from the thing that looked like his angel, but of course the monster would try its best to intimidate them.

"Look. Why don't you just clear out?” Crowley snapped at the Leviathan. “You know it's rude to stay where you're not wanted. Tell him, Cas. Tell him to vacate the premises. It's time you took back control."

"Yeah, _tell him, Cas!_ " The Leviathan shot Crowley a sarcastic smile before tossing them both against two separate trees with a simple flick of the wrist. They might be devoid of power, here, but the monster wasn’t.

Castiel's vision went white momentarily from the impact, the breath knocked from his lungs.

"Get. Out," the angel spat, when he could form the words. They were shaky, but they were firm.

Not-Castiel all but squealed in delight. "You think it's that easy? Do you really? I think you should choke on that tongue of yours." Another psychotic smile and Cas was doing just that.

The angel coughed and sputtered, unable to move thanks to the way the Leviathan had both he and Crowley restrained. The sound was horrific, but the feeling of helplessness was worse.

Crowley felt utterly powerless, then. He’d been outmanned by Castiel plenty of times, sure, but he’d never felt so completely useless as he did now. Here - inside the angel’s vessel, inside the Leviathan’s mind - he was the least of them. And if Cas couldn’t fight the monster off, there was no way in Hell or out of it that he’d stand a chance. No - the only hope was Castiel. He just had to make him see that, had to make him fight.

“This is _your_ mind, Cas. This is **your** vessel, not theirs. Stop letting this dick call the shots. Come _on_ , Cas. If God brought you back for anything, it wasn’t to let _this moron_ win. **Fight, Cas, fight**.” 

The Leviathan held a hand to his ear, leaning towards Castiel who was still choking. “What’s that? Dick got your tongue?” His laughter was the only thing louder than the angel’s coughing. His eyes snapped back to the King. 

“And _you_ , you weak, pathetic little demon… you sure do like to give pep talks don’t you?” Dark, dark eyes turned back to Castiel. “You like putting up with this? His little cheerleading sessions? His pom-poms and his mini-skirts? Really?” Not-Castiel scoffed. “Stupid creatures.” A snap and the angel and demon fell to the ground, still immobilised. 

Castiel’s eyes were full of fury and rage. He _knew_ this monster was so much stronger than him. He knew that it would be impossible to overpower him once more… once more… like he had been successful the first time. The seraph’s eyes met Crowley’s. “You have to get out. You have to get out _now_.”

“I’m not going _anywhere_ without _you_ , Cas,” the demon said with a proud little lift of his head, ignoring the slight tremor in his own voice. “Stronger together, remember? You took down Raphael. You gonna let a dinosaur like this get the better of you? What are you, an angel or… or a bloody fairy? C’mon, angel. **Please**.”

“I think fairies are tougher, actually…” Not-Castiel interjected.

“ _Crowley_ , **please**. I-- I can’t… you have to go. I can’t be responsible for hurting you again.”

“Alright. Enough of this. You two _sicken_ me. Demon, isn’t about time for your _exorcise_?” The Leviathan laughed and expelled Crowley from what used to be Castiel’s vessel.

Not-Castiel made a disgusted face, sticking his tongue out. “Fucking sulfur…” 

Castiel continued to regain control, managing only to slow the Leviathan down… but the monster would not be stopped. He had work to do. He vanished from Crowley’s lab without saying a word to the demon still lying on the floor.

Crowley wanted to stay in, he did. He tried everything he could to keep wound tight inside that vessel, but neither of them wanted him there and he was - unceremoniously - spat out. He swirled angrily above them, considering trying again… but there was no point. He rushed back into his tattered and dirty meatsuit. If he was going to die, he wanted to die nicely dressed. But when he sat up… 

Castiel - and the Leviathan - were gone.

Bloody… _angel_.

***

The Leviathan looked down at his vessel’s hands which were dripping with black ichor. It was altering his vision, to - no doubt dripping from his head and into his eyes. Castiel saw it all. It was horrifying. He had no idea if Crowley was okay, or even if he was alive… Not-Castiel let the angel see the demon lying still on the floor, still and lifeless. It was the last image Castiel had to cling to of his King - and the only one the Leviathan would let him remember.

The seraph, once as powerful as God, now struggled for even the tiniest hint of control in his own vessel. But the monsters inside of him were so much older, so much more powerful, any restraining Castiel was able to do only manifested in some off balance walking and stumbling as the Leviathan moved towards the nearest source of water.

Cas tried to cry out for help from someone - anyone - who could hear him, but no one came. He didn’t even know if his cries made it outside of what was once Jimmy Novak’s body. The monster shuffled slowly towards a sign that read _Public Water Supply_. 

_No, no, no… no, this was not good_. But the angel was the only one in that vessel who seemed to think that. The Leviathan sank slowly into the water, against Castiel’s best attempts at stopping them. 

The water became a swirling vortex, at the bottom of which was the Leviathan. Castiel’s vision went **black** and suddenly, he was… _nothing_. Ichor burst out of the vessel and into the water. Black lines streaking the calm ripples of the lake and then… they were gone. 

The Leviathans had won.


	37. Chapter 37

Crowley went back to Hell in a daze. He had no clue where Castiel - where the _Leviathan_ \- had gone. One minute he’d been there, the next… vanished. He could still remember the perverse smile on his angel’s face, the twisted, evil, nasty things he’d seen on a face once beautiful, kind and radiant. It made him sick to the pit of his stomach. It made him want to retch, but there was nothing in his meatsuit to retch up. Nor would it make him feel better. The memory of black ichor like tar that slid over his seraph’s features, obscuring them, hiding him… 

He landed in his office and for a long moment he did nothing. He simply stood there, motionless and silent. What could he do? What _could_ he do? **Nothing**. He was as powerless here, as he had been inside that dreamscape, that imagined Purgatory that was - for him - the real Hell. Vast legions at his disposal, but if the King couldn’t take him down, then what could?

Rage and impotence boiled over inside of him, and with a flick of his wrist he smashed every last piece of glass in the office. Every piece. He didn’t want _anything_ to glint and sparkle, lest it remind him of his angel. Next went the books. He sent them all flying in every direction, smacking into the walls and lying - spines broken - on the plush carpet of his floor. More. There was more to break. He systematically destroyed every last thing in their room save one. Save… the bed. 

_Their_ bed. **Home** , the angel had called it, tangled in his arms. **Home**. He stared at it in fury, wishing he could burn it from the feet up… but he couldn’t. If he went over to the pillow, wouldn’t it still smell of him? If he ran his fingers through the sheets, wouldn’t he still feel the kisses on the back of his neck?

He pulled out his phone and smacked at the screen with a clumsy, adrenaline-shaking finger.

‘ _Find my angel_ ’ is all he said, in a text sent to the one person who he thought might be able to.

And then - in the wreckage of a broken room - he sat on the edge of his desk and opened up a bottle. He had no glasses left, so he drank straight from the lip. It was a terrible sin, but he was a terrible sinner.

And at least the room reflected how he felt inside, now.

_Broken_.

***

Cecily had expected the order to find Castiel the moment she lost him. She had looked everywhere, but it seemed the angel had _vanished_. All that was left was his overcoat, which had made its way to the shore. One of her demons brought it back to her. She had it dry cleaned and pressed and was holding on to it… just in case.

She searched everywhere a second and then a third time, but Castiel was gone. The Leviathan issue was **very** bad, but she knew Crowley wanted to hear nothing of that. He would have to deal with that when the time came.

But now, here she stood, in front of his office door - she had tried to call, but he didn’t answer - fumbling with the pen in her hand until finally she knocked. He didn’t answer. Of course.

She pushed it open, making a terrible noise as it caught on… _something_. She shook her head and looked up, eyes widening. There was nothing left that wasn’t in pieces… except perhaps the desk where the King of Hell was perched sloppily upon. She looked around the room again, slower… books torn to shreds, glass everywhere, the elegant chair that Crowley always sat in was on its side, stuffing pouring out. 

The King had his foot on it, rocking it back and forth with red eyes - not the Crossroad kind of red… the _broken_ kind.

She made her way carefully across the mess and grabbed the bottle from Crowley’s hand. She wasn’t sure what to say, so she just pulled him into a hug.

He resisted the bottle being taken at first, but it was the - what? Seventh? Seventeenth? Seven hundredth? It didn’t matter, and it was almost empty, too. He didn’t want to go into the hug, either. Didn’t she know he was the King of Hell? Didn’t she know how important and powerful he was? He was not some… some mindless, petty human, mourning their dead dog. He was _Crowley_. He was… he was…

...he burrowed his face into her neck, clutching at her wordlessly. His breath smelt like a brewery, his hands were shaking from _delerium tremens_ and his breath hiccuped when he tried to speak. It was no use, so he just wrapped around her tighter and let himself be held.

Cecily had not known that her heart could be broken as a demon, but pulling Crowley in tighter, her fingers rubbing gently against the back of his head, she realized that not only could her heart be broken, but shattered into pieces. She ached for him, for what he was feeling. 

“Crowley,” her voice, a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t know what else she could say. What _do_ you say to comfort someone like this? Demons weren’t exactly used to dealing with loss. 

“I think you should lie down, sweetie.” She pulled back slightly from the hug, trying to get him to look up at her.

He sat back and ran the back of his hand under his nose, sniffing. He hadn’t been crying… for a while, anyway, but he felt he had to do it. He couldn’t meet her eyes, no matter how hard she tried.

_Cas_. His angel. The love of his life. Didn’t she know? Didn’t she understand what he’d done? He’d destroyed him. All of this was his fault. All of it. Now Castiel was gone, and Crowley was left in a ruined room, with a ruined heart, and the only thing still standing between the endless bottles of Craig was the _bed_.

...but it would… it would smell of him and…

He nodded, glumly. “Y-yes.” His voice was croaky from lack of use. He kicked the chair aside, and it made a horrible screeching noise as it slid over more broken glass and tattered books. With a resigned sigh, he pushed off the desk and to his feet, head lifted with pride he did not feel as he threw himself into the pillows - fully dressed - and grabbed hold of one to breathe it in.

If he was sober, and less depressed, he might feel ashamed of his behaviour. But as it was, he was too heartbroken and inebriated to give the slightest fuck.

Cecily might have laughed had she not so utterly devastated for Crowley. She pulled off his shoes, clearing a spot for them on the floor with her foot.

She placed a hand gently on his upper back. "Let's get this jacket off. It'll feel better, I promise."

Crowley was not feeling helpful, though, and the answer he gave to her request was muffled in the pillow. If she wanted him undressed she was going to have to work at it. Right now, he was internally screaming because he’d realised the pillows were filled with down. With feathers. _Like angel feathers_.

Cecily rolled her eyes and spent the next few minutes struggling to get his jacket off, but she managed. She wasn't sure where to put it in the wreckage, though.

Eventually, she settled for neatly placing it on top of what was once a chair. She reached between him and the pillow and managed to get his tie off and the top button undone.

She took a deep breath, that was an event. She doubted she'd go through any of that for anyone else. Cecily shimmied the covers from underneath him and pulled them back up over him before leaning down to place a soft kiss to the top of his head.

When it became clear she was determined to do it, he did stop resisting, but he didn’t exactly make it easy, either. Crowley was feeling awkward, and angry, and drunk, and depressed... and he was not feeling happy, helpful, bouncy or anything else. He was, however, grateful that she didn’t seem to be resorting to her normal chipper self. He might have strangled her if she did.

Crowley curled up under the covers, trying his best not to pout but not managing it. When she made to go, he reached out and grabbed hold of her wrist. He couldn’t say it, but his eyes pleaded with her not to leave him alone any longer. Not to go.

~~Like the angel usually had. Like he’d said he never would again. Like he had anyway.~~

There was no way Cecily could resist the pleading eyes of her King. She walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed on, letting her shoes clatter to the floor. She shrugged her own blazer off, tossing it on top of his.

Cecily fluffed the pillow behind her up and slid her feet under the covers and tried to get comfy.

This was _not_ how she imagined ending up in bed with the King of Hell.

After a brief pause when he debated the wisdom of this, Crowley gave in and shuffled closer. He just needed proximity, really. He needed not to be alone with his thoughts.

“...th-thank you,” he mumbled, awkwardly, looking anywhere but at her face. “I just…” But he couldn’t finish that thought off, couldn’t give voice to how he felt. He wasn’t sure words even existed.

Cecily moved her arm tugging Crowley that much closer. She would've done anything he asked of her, and more. That was just her way. So if the King needed someone to hold him, that's exactly what she would do.

She held him tightly, her chin resting on his head as she shushed him.

"You don't need to thank me, silly." Cuddling with Crowley had certainly been on her bucket list, but he was much happier in her mind than he currently was.

"Don't worry. We'll find him." Her voice was strong and confident - the exact opposite of the way she felt.

_He’s already dead_ , Crowley thought to himself in that bitter, hurtful voice that always said what he feared the most. With a shudder, he wrapped himself tighter around her, his cheek resting on her bosom as his eyes closed.

It was a mistake. With his eyes closed, flickers of the fake Purgatory danced behind his lids, the whispers of snarls and growls in the distance. He opened his eyes again on a shudder. 

“If anyone can, it’s you,” he said, instead. She was warm and soft. She wasn’t his angel, but she was all he had right now.

***

The water was nice. It was cold, but it was nice. It ran past him gently as it flowed inexorably towards the sea, following the ancient paths, and though molecule after molecule slid over his skin, the river as a whole embraced him. He walked slowly to the riverbed, his bare feet clutching at the loose rocks - arms out for balance - and he stood on the grass. It was soft underneath his feet. His body was chilled, but it didn’t seem to bother him. The sun was bright but not hot, and he looked up. It was low in the sky, dancing somewhere in the tree-branches. Birds sang. They were busy looking for a mate to call their own. Bees went back and forth between the flowers and their hives. The world was so very beautiful, wasn’t it?

The man stood still, with no compulsion to do anything but appreciate it. The scent of wet earth, and the way the breeze ruffled through his damp hair. Damp because he had been in the river. Why? He was not sure. Why was he out of the river? He was not sure about that, either. 

The man did not know who he was, or where he was. He closed his eyes and just let the world wash over him, like the river had. It was cleansing, wasn’t it? Water?

“Uhm… hello?”

He looked to see the voice. When had she arrived? When had she approached? He has been so lost in his thoughts.

“Hello.” He smiled at her.

“Are you alright? You’re… uhm.”

“I am fine, thank you.”

“You… lost? Hurt?”

“I am not hurt, but I suppose I am lost. Where am I?”

“...by the river, in the park.”

“I see. But where is the park?”

“...you really don’t… know?”

“No. I do not know why I am here, or where ‘here’ is.”

“What happened to your clothes?”

“I do not recall.” But it did not concern him, that they were missing. They were simply clothes.

“...I think you should come with me. I can get you dried off, find you something to wear… to eat…”

“Thank you. That is very kind.”

“I’m Daphne.”

“It is nice to meet you, Daphne.”

“And you are?”

“I have no idea.”

***

It was probably a good idea, like Cecily had said, for him to be away from his rooms and from Hell for a while. Away from the memories that haunted every square inch. He didn’t feel up to working - wasn’t even sure what he could do - but he was glad she’d agreed to continue masterminding the search. 

Castiel was dead, of course, and nothing could convince him otherwise. But still he wanted them to look. Still he wanted them to search.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was dressed in blue and white striped flannel pyjamas. ~~Yes he was. The blue made him think of Cas’ tie, his eyes, and the white made him think of Heaven. The soft blur against his skin reminded him of the angel’s nose and fingers.~~ He’d never worn anything so ridiculous in his life, but somehow the get-up worked for now, and he wriggled his toes in the plushy, soft slippers as he sat on the couch, the daytime TV blaring away without any of it really sinking in.

Movement caught his eye and from the doorway to the kitchen he saw the little black ball of menacing fur eyeing him warily. Crowley stared right back at the cat, communing silently with it. It was evil, as all cats were. He decided he liked it. The cat, however, was slower to warm up and it skittered off with a dolorous _meow_.

Well, Crowley thought, he had invaded the little beast’s personal space and territory, so it was understandable it would take some time to warm up to him. He grabbed another spoonful of _Phish Food_ and went back to making bitchy comments about the trollopes and hussies on TV.

Cecily had spent the day in her new office - thanks to Crowley, of course for the new digs - searching every available channel she could find for _any_ trace of Castiel. Of course, her search turned up nothing **again**. She eyed the tan overcoat that hung on the door across from her desk and sighed. _Definitely_ not ready for that.

She headed home where she’d left Crowley and tried not to seem too down - but also not too chipper as she figured that would _not_ help his mood - when she came in the door. 

She raised her eyebrows when she caught a glimpse of his pyjamas and couldn’t help but smile a little. “I’m glad to see you made yourself at home. Was your day alright?”

“I think I cleared out your freezer, but other than that… yes. Oh. And your cat hasn’t decided if he’s going to claw my face off or rub his tail on my nose, yet.” It was not a ‘yes’ and it was not a ‘no’. He did, however, sit up a little bit more, examining her face for any trace of hope. He didn’t see any, and he was clearly fighting another wave of despondency in return.

“Oh, yeah. AJ’s a little temperamental, but I’m certain he’ll be flicking his tail all over your nose soon enough.” She turned to set her purse down, mainly because she didn’t want to tell him she’d come up with nothing _again_. 

Crowley knew. He just… he knew. She’d have been jumping to tell him if she’d found anything good. Which meant either she’d found nothing, or… or… 

“Shall we… get some Chinese food in?” he asked, even though he was still holding the mostly-decimated tub of icecream and an oversized spoon.

“Yeah, that sounds great.” The younger demon tucked her hair behind her ear and pulled a menu from a binder hidden in a kitchen drawer. She plopped down on the couch next to Crowley and handed it to him. “What sounds good, King?”

“Duck pancakes to start, and then schezuan chicken. And some prawn crackers. And then some banana fritters.”

“Oh schezuan chicken sounds delish. I think I’ll have that, too.” She called in their order and disappeared for a moment to change into black and pink striped pyjama pants and a plain black v-neck t-shirt. She folded her legs underneath of her and sat down on the couch next to Crowley once more. “What are we watching?” 

“Whatever was on… you want something in particular?” he asked, gesturing with the remote.

“Nah, anything is fine.”

Crowley flicked until he found a film that was just starting. ‘American Pie’. He’d seen it before, and it at least wasn’t triggery for the most part, other than the… pie… and Dean… and… Crowley grit his teeth around a smile.

“I assume that… no news is not… bad news?”

“No news is good news, right? Nothing concrete… I just don’t see how he could vanish like that.” Cecily focused on the movie, only tearing her eyes a way for a quick smile at the older demon. She didn’t trust herself to look at him any longer at the moment. She’d have to tell him about the coat sooner or later… just not _now_.

Crowley could see she was concealing something, it was there in her eyes. He narrowed his eyes at her, curiously. He was about to say something when the food arrived. “...I’ll get the door.”

He tipped the delivery boy, because he was still in his pyjamas, and then brought the cartons back into the living room. “We eating on the couch, or…?”

“I usually do, but wherever you’re more comfortable eating.”

Although he was the King of Hell, he was still domesticated. First it was lap trays, and then it was cutlery, and then he was sitting cross-legged on the couch with his take-out. He’d only missed a few minutes of the film.

He didn’t really know what to say, next, so he just… ate. And watched. And ate. 

Cecily let herself get lost in the bad jokes and sheer lunacy of the movie and before she knew it, the credits were rolling. She chewed on her bottom lip because that meant more conversation and she was sure the King hadn’t believed her entirely about the whole coat mess. 

She was briefly startled when AJ jumped onto her lap, but thankful for the distraction. 

“Hey AJ.” She ran her hand along the cat’s back as it peered curiously at Crowley. “He’s okay. Promise.”

That was all the reassuring the cat needed to hop on over to the King of Hell’s lap and mew, butting his head into Crowley’s hand. Crowley peered down at the little black ball of fluff demanding attention, his fur soft and sleek. He scritched between the ears and then over the nape of his neck. “Well hello, little man. AJ, isn’t it? Aren’t you a cute little kitten…”

Kitten. His smile went suddenly very thin-lipped and pale. Kitten. The animal seemed utterly oblivious to the sudden shake in the demon’s mood, purring and kneading at his knee under the attention. Crowley said nothing, not trusting his voice.

Cecily’s smile faded as Crowley’s did. Whatever was going on in his mind was obviously somehow related to Cas. She held her breath, looking around uneasily. “Are you… okay?” Her voice was soft and full of concern.

He wanted to answer her, he did. But he really wasn’t sure how his voice would come out. He bit harder on his lip and… a nod. Just a nod. Then a shake of his head. No. 

Cecily’s heart broke all over again like it had done the day before, seeing the pain on Crowley’s face. She said nothing, only scooted closer, placing her hand over his. 

That was one thing too much, and he made a choked little noise, running his free hand over his face to hide his expression. “I’m-- I’m--” His voice was cracking over the words. “It’s all my fault, Cecily. I-- I should have-- I didn’t--”

“No, no, no, no. You can’t do this to yourself. It’s not your fault, okay? Look at me, Crowley.” She placed a hand under his chin, forcing him to look at her. “It is _not_ your fault. And we’ll find him. We **will** find him, okay?”

He looked at her, but the understanding on her face was just the final straw, and he burst into obnoxiously loud tears. On his lap, AJ dug his claws in in protest, yowled, and went running. That just made him cry even harder. Even the fucking _real_ kitten left like his angel had. Like… like… 

“I miss him--” sniff, “--s-s-s-so much, Cecily I--” **sniff**. “If I’d stopped him sooner, if I’d not let the power go to my head, he… he might still…”

“He’s only missing and we _will_ find him.” She clutched at him, pulling him close. “You can’t blame yourself, Crowley, you can’t.”

He went into her arms much faster this time, head resting on her chest. He was still sniffling back wet tears. “If he’s out there, why wouldn’t he get back in touch? He knows I love him. He knows… doesn’t he? I told him. It was all going so well. He must be-- he wouldn’t-- oh _God_ I killed the only person I’ve ever loved. I just-- I can’t-- I…” He pushed his face into her shoulder, clutching at her and crying louder still.

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. We just haven’t found it yet.” She nuzzled her face against his head, running hand reassuringly up and down his back. She had no idea what she was supposed to do… demons and comforting? Who would’ve thought? Part of her believed the words she spoke - that they would find Castiel and the whole thing would just be a giant misunderstanding - but the other part of her… well… she didn’t really want to think about that right now, so she just held Crowley a little tighter.

“You don’t-- you don’t under _stand_ ,” he hiccuped at her. “He’s stubborn. He’s stubborn as all Hell. But he… he **promised** he’d come home to me. And those… those _things_... he didn’t deserve that. He _didn’t deserve that_. He just wanted to s-save the world and now he’s… I… I can’t…”

“Maybe all that stubbornness is to blame? Like, maybe _he_ feels bad? Or he’s ashamed or something stupid that doesn’t make sense and that’s why he’s hiding? Or maybe he bonked his head? You’re thinking of the worst case scenario, sweetie. There’s so many things that could’ve happened. Maybe we’re just looking in all the wrong places…”

Ashamed? Ashamed of what? Their love? Hadn’t they gotten over that? Or had it just been the souls talking? Did Cas only love him when there were evil things inside of him? Souls from Hell, or monsters from Purgatory? Was he now an angel again, and now he knew he’d been wrong all along? That made him cry even harder, clutching at her. He was dimly aware that this was absolutely atrocious on his part, but the _grief_ in his chest, the love that now had nowhere to go… **no**. A Cas alive and no longer loving him? That might even be worse than no Cas at all. 

“I just-- I miss him so… he was so special. So… so special. So beautiful and… and he made me feel… I…” The words deteriorated into nothing again. God’s sake, he’d never been this cut up about losing someone. _Ever_. It hurt so much he couldn’t _breathe_.

_I am so bad at this_. Cecily was slightly disappointed in herself at her lack of ability to comfort Crowley better. She was not used to feeling like she had failed. It might’ve just been the fact that she _still_ didn’t have any good leads on the angel, but either way, failure was not something she was used to. 

She ran her hand up and down his back slowly. All those romantic movies seem to have lied about rebounding. She was fairly certain any more words on her part might actually kill Crowley, so she just held him tightly until his breathing became more normal and his sobbing was nothing more than shaky breaths. 

She had to find Castiel.

_She **had** to_.


	38. Chapter 38

Cecily had been working hard on finding as much information as possible on the newest monster. If Crowley had been in his right mind, he would’ve asked her to start on it immediately. Of course she had, anyway. That on top of searching for Castiel…

So far, she hadn’t found much more than they already knew. That didn’t stop her from compiling a folder on them along with the tiny bit of info she had found that was new and taking it to Crowley the first day he was back to work after his absence.

Prior to his return, she had completely repaired everything in his office, making it look exactly like it had before he destroyed it all. 

It was good to see him sitting behind his desk again, even if the light in his eyes was gone. He certainly wasn’t the same, but then again, how could he be? 

“So I took the liberty of starting the research on the Leviathans,” she said, sitting down across from him after she handed him the folder. “There’s not a lot of information readily available but I have people scouring the deepest, darkest depths.” For information _and_ Castiel.

“Yes… they’re…” He stopped talking and looked at the folder. “We don’t even know how many there are…”

“I know. It’s certainly a challenge, but I totes love a good challenge.” Her smile was a bit forced. She _did_ love a challenge, but the weight of this one was bearing down on her hard and she was far from confident for the first time in her life about her investigative skills.

Crowley noticed, of course, and gave his own forced smile. Cecily was a good worker, and she had been a good friend when he needed one the most. 

“I have every faith in you, sweetheart.”

She gave him a smile. “Well, I’m on my lunch break, they’ll be expecting me back soon. I have a meeting with a few possible leads this afternoon. I’ll let you know if I find anything, ‘kay?”

“Sounds lovely, Cecily.” He stood, moving to walk her out of his office. “Thank you.” _For everything_.

“Please,” she said, batting a hand through the air playfully. “No worries at all.”

Crowley put a hand on her shoulder gently, offering a small smile. Cecily gave a nervous little chuckle, returning the smile. 

“I’ll text you, ‘kay?”

Cecily disappeared down the corridors of Hades, heels clacking loudly against the floor as she walked. Why couldn’t she find something - **anything** \- to indicate Castiel was still alive. She smoothed her jacket before walking back into the office building. Maybe she’d get somewhere with the Leviathans after these meetings. 

Something had to give.

***

“I don’t know why you’re surprised, man.” Dean was pacing up and down Rufus’ cabin, his hands balling into fists and then relaxing again. “Douche didn’t even come when we called _before_ he decided he was the new God.”

“What other choice do we have?” Sam argued. “We don’t know how to handle these things, we have no clue how to tackle them, or what they’re up to, or… anything.”

“Like Cas is suddenly gonna help us? Sam. Is that… is that… _You Know Who_ talking?”

“What? No! Dean… you saw the news reports. Yeah, he was whacked out and way over the top, but all those things he was doing? Healing the sick and punishing the sinners? He was crazy as all Hell, but he was still… _Cas_ , underneath it all.”

“Yeah, but do we really need a loose canon? Someone who might kill us the next breath after he helps us?”

“I don’t see anyone else lining the block to come help us.”

“Fine. Whatever. But he won’t come.”

“Maybe if you--”

Dean’s eyes were hard, and Sam realised it was pointless.

“Okay. I’ll try.” He looked away and up. Up at the rafters. “Cas… Castiel. Listen, man. We really need you. I… I know things have been rough between us, but we need you. We need your help. Cas… if you’re listening… we can make this work. Somehow…”

Nothing.

Dean snorted.

“Hey, we lost nothing trying.”

“How about your dignity and self-worth?”

Sam shrugged. 

“Right. Now we do it my way.” The elder Winchester finished off the summoning spell, and then smirked in satisfaction as the demon they hated most of all appeared in the living room. There was a trap painted, even though Sam pointed out it hadn’t worked the last time they attempted this.

“Oh for the love of… _no_ ,” Crowley growled, pacing in the Devil’s Trap. “You let me out this instant. I’m **not** playing this game with you _brats_.”

“Hold up, Hot-Shot,” Dean said, levelling the shotgun with buckshot against his shoulder. “I know this won’t stop you, but it will sure as Hell sting. We got a few questions and then you can be on your way. Or I’ll get out the knife and see if _that_ still works.”

“Let me the **Hell** out or I swear by my throne I will _rip_ every inch of flesh from your bones and feed it - strip by strip - to Growley.”

“So you’re trapped again, huh? Something happen?” Dean pushed.

Crowley folded his arms across his chest, eyes flashing angrily.

“Look. It’s not you we want. It’s Cas,” Sam tried, his voice conciliatory. “Nothing bad. We just… want his help and advice.”

“Well, Moose, you’re a bit too late to the party.”

“Cut the bull crap, Crowley. The Hell is going on?”

“Oh, Dean… don’t you know? There is no Castiel. Not any more.” The demon’s face was almost picture perfect, but the hurt was there in the corners of his eyes, the edges of his lips. “He’s gone. Finito. Tripped the light fantastic.”

“He… what?”

“How much clearer do you want me to be? He’s passed on. No more. Ceased to be. Expired and gone to meet his Heavenly Father for the umpteenth time. Stiff. Bereft of life--”

“Crowley…”

“ **He’s bloody dead, you uncouth, uncivilised, back-water, witless, gormless piece of shit! How much clearer do you want me to be? SHOULD I DRAW YOU A FUCKING DIAGRAM?!** ”

“Hold up, HOLD UP! Cas is _dead_?” Dean snapped.

“What in the blue blazes do you think I’ve been saying _since you dragged me here_ , you half-formed, uneducated, serial-killing **ape**? Yes. Castiel is dead. Thanks entirely to the monster that came through the door, in case you’re wondering. And not for lack of trying to save him.”

“So these monsters - these… _things_ \- they killed Cas?” Sam surmised.

“If you mean the Leviathans currently running rampant over the world, then yes, Jolly Green, that is precisely who I mean. And no, I don’t know how to kill them. Those things are _old_ and so nasty even the abusive father we all know as Lord Almighty Version 1.0 locked them up and tried to throw away the key. Oh and your intel on them? Yes. You’re welcome for that by the way.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “What the Hell happened?” He ignored the implication that Crowley had somehow been feeding them intel, because… that didn’t bear thinking about.

“How about you shut your damn cakehole and let me out of here?”

“How about no?”

“Fine.” Crowley hitched up his pants from the knee, and sat down, cross-legged. “Let’s all just sit here and wait for our sudden, yet inevitable deaths.”

“Dude… you’re not gonna help us?”

“Help you? When Castiel himself couldn’t defeat him?”

“What the fuck, man?” Dean was glaring at him. “We’re pissed off about Cas, too, but you’re just gonna let them **win**? You’re gonna let his death be for _nothing_?”

“Well I was considering just retiring to a tropical island and fornicating my way to the next Ragnarok or Apocalypse, but somehow my heart’s not in it.”

“You know what? You’re a douche, Crowley. A complete and utter douche.”

The King of Hell glowered back up at him. “Of course I’m looking into ways to defeat him. What the Hell do you take me for? I’m _working on it_ , but I have to keep it hush-hush in case he obliterates me, you know? As of now, I don’t have a fully viable plan. But the minute I do, I’ll be in touch. So… are you going to let me go, or shall I start a round of ‘I’m Henry the Eighth I am’? Because I _know_ you will crack before I do.”

The brothers exchanged a long and detailed conversation using only their facial expressions and shoulders, the end result of which was Sam shuffling over to break the trap with his toe.

“Much obliged. I’ll be in touch. Don’t wait up.”

Crowley vanished, leaving the brothers to work through their grief without him.

It was bad enough with Castiel gone. He didn’t need _them_ and their sudden volte-face caring to make him feel worse than he already did.

***

“Well, you didn’t have any ID,” Daphne said, “so it’s impossible to tell who you are, or where you came from.”

“I understand.”

“You really don’t remember _anything_?”

“Other than how to speak, or how to perform basic tasks? No. It’s almost as if any life I had has been wiped, and left behind only my skills.”

Daphne put a hand on his knee. “Perhaps it was a sign.”

“A sign?”

“From God. Perhaps you were given the chance to start again.”

“Perhaps I was.”

“Do you… believe in God?” She sounded almost shy, as she asked that.

“I think I do. I feel like I - somehow - know there’s something… _more_ , but I don’t know how, or why, or what.”

“I think us meeting was no coincidence. I think… God meant it. I think he gave you this chance to start all over again. Whatever you were before, it doesn’t matter. It’s what you do next. You could look for who you were, but maybe you wouldn’t like what you saw? What then? Right now, you’re a blank slate, with no history, no hang-ups, and no debts to pay. You’re _free_. Do you really want to go to the police and look for a life you don’t remember, for people who know who you used to be, but who you don’t know any more?”

“I understand.”

“Maybe one day you’ll remember who and what you were, but… I know people. I know people who can start your life from the ground up. It’s why He introduced you to me.”

“How can they… ‘start my life’ for me?”

“A new identity. A new name. A new everything.”

“That does sound helpful. I will never be able to thank you enough for all you’ve done for me.”

Daphne leaned over and kissed his temple. “Just think of me as the Good Samaritan. Well… why don’t we find a name for you. Is there one you think you want?”

“No, I… I didn’t really think about it.”

“Here,” she said, pulling her laptop over and searching for a name site. “Why don’t you go through this, and see if anything jumps out at you. It should be something you’re comfortable with - for the rest of your life - and you could pick something with a meaning behind it, too.”

“Thank you,” he said again, taking the laptop and starting to check.

“I’ll leave you to it, and I’ll make a few calls.”

“Alright. I will let you know as soon as I find something that… ‘speaks to me’.”

He worked through the lists diligently until he found one that seemed to work. _Emmanuel_. ‘God is with us’. Yes. It was perfect.


	39. Chapter 39

“No.” The King of Hell’s voice was stern. “I said no the first time you asked, Cecily, I meant it.”

“Crowley, think about it. You’re the King, shouldn’t you make some kind of attempt to at least _speak_ to Dick?”

“I’ve spoken to him enough to last a million lifetimes.”

“But he’s in charge of the monsters that are trying to destroy the world. To kill all of humanity. You understand, don’t you, what’ll happen if you sit back and do nothing?”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at the younger demon who sat in her usual place across his desk.

“No humans, means no souls, means your Kingdom falls.” She ticked each point off on her fingers as she spoke.

Bloody Hell. She was right. But maybe he just didn’t _want_ his reign anymore. What was the purpose, anyway? He had nothing left to exist for. She’d found no traces of the angel, no inkling that maybe, just maybe he was still out there. And if he was? Well… he clearly didn’t feel the same about Crowley as he once had. 

“...and?”

“Crowley, **come _on_**.” She flopped back in her chair, pushing her glasses up on her face. No sudden revelation in the King’s eyes. She stood up, leaning against his desk. “You know what? I’ve let this go on for too long. You are _Crowley_. You are the King. Of. Hell. You are one of the most powerful beings in creation and you are just hanging in the shadows, letting _Dick_ win. Do you want him to win? Do you want your legacy that you built from _nothing_ to be yoinked out from underneath you that easily? The Crowley I know wouldn’t just take it lying down. The Crowley I know would stand up, he would fight, because he doesn’t give up. He **can’t** give up. _He **can’t**_.”

The King was taken aback by Cecily’s sudden outburst. She wasn’t normally so… aggressive… but maybe she was onto something. If - and bloody Hell, what an _if_ \- Castiel was still alive and perhaps something had happened to make him forget or whatever it was Cecily was always on about, with Dick killing off humanity and taking souls from him in that way, Crowley would be in no position to find his angel. 

He couldn’t give up on Cas… he couldn’t. And if that meant confronting Dick Roman in person, well, then, he’d have to do that.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

***

Emmanuel lay on the small couch-bed in the living room, staring at Daphne’s ceiling. After she had found him reading books and watching the television very quietly one night and asked him why he didn’t sleep, he’d tried every night.

“But how do I sleep?” he’d asked.

“You just… lie down and close your eyes… stop thinking and just… relax, you know?”

He’d felt pretty relaxed with the books, but she had seemed so concerned with his welfare that he had agreed to try.

He was not tired. He never got tired. But Daphne had been kind enough to offer him a place to stay, food, clothes, names and an identity. He helped out around the house, and he did manual work for the parish, but he was aware that he existed solely on her charity and he did not want her to worry needlessly.

So Emmanuel closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure what dreaming really was, but when he closed his eyes sometimes the events of the day drifted through his mind. Words people had said to him, or something he had read. He remembered the roses in Mrs Forsythe’s garden, and he remembered the taste of the milk that was two days away from being wrong. He thought about how he could take apart the mechanism on the vestry door and fix the slight squeak it made. He thought about how tomorrow was Thursday, and how he always liked Thursdays most.

Sometimes, though, his thoughts were more distant. It was like stories of things that had happened to someone else. He remembered battles and blinding lights. He remembered dark places and whispering, cruel voices. He remembered pie and leather upholstery. He remembered the smell of bourbon and men laughing.

Those were not his favourite ‘dreams’, though. His favourite dreams were rarer. They were distant, and when he opened his eyes they seemed to fade in the face of the light. He saw eyes that glinted like gold, like a dragon’s, perhaps, or a lion’s. He heard laughter that was somehow different, like it came from somewhere else, and the sound of it felt bigger in his chest for some reason. He saw fingers that drummed on bright crystal glass, and that made his mouth somehow dry for something he couldn’t remember the taste of. He felt warmth against his cheek, over his throat. His scalp tingled as though someone was running fingers through his hair, and his skin prickled uncomfortably, missing something he didn’t understand. 

It was an absence. A gap. It was occasionally turning with words on his lips to tell someone behind his shoulder who wasn’t there when he turned. It was the way milk always made him want cookies. It was songs on Daphne’s radio that he knew the lyrics to, and he didn’t know why.

Emmanuel hated those dreams, even as he loved them. He enjoyed them at the time, but when he woke from them, it was always to the sense that something, somehow, was wrong.

***

Dick settled in the back of his limousine, picking up his newspaper to catch up on anything he’d missed.

“Mr. Roman.”

The Leviathan in the suit looked up to the demon who had just materialised inside his ride. 

“I believe it’s time we were formally introduced,” Crowley said, shuffling the basket on his lap. “After all, we didn’t meet in the best of circumstances. I’m Crowley. I run Hell.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I agree one hundred percent. High time we did this properly… after all, you _were_ somewhat distracted the last time we met. Something about how the angel should ‘cast me out’ wasn’t it?”

Crowley smiled a smile that moved only his lips, pulling back the cloth covering the basket. He opted to ignore the reminder of their last encounter, in favour of the business he’d come to talk. “Water under the bridge. Muffin?”

“Oh… you shouldn’t have. I love a muffin.”

“One hundred percent organic baby uvulas. Gluten free.”

“So considerate. So domesticated. Did you often bake for the angel?”

Eyes completely dead, Crowley pushed the basket closer. “I’ll cut to the chase, Mr. Roman.”

“Please: Dick.”

“Dick.” That dull smile again. He didn’t even deign to try any number of inappropriate sexual jokes that name offered. His heart was just not in this at all. “You and I control large interests that - I feel - could meld, to the benefit of all.”

“You think?”

No, Crowley thought. I want to wipe you and all your kind from the face of the planet, I want to destroy you, but I don’t know how. But what he said was: “I know. Straight talk. We’ve had our differences, but that’s all in the past, now. I’m a demon of the future. We should be friends, you and I.”

“Why? Why in the world would we be? Even if we ignore the very upsetting comments you made about us, even if we ignore the part where you hurt our feelings?”

“Well… I brought you here, Dick. _I_ found the way to open the door to Purgatory.”

“Oh. You mean the plan to steal every last soul? You and your fallen angel boyfriend? Don’t roofie me and call it romance, demon. You can’t hide things from me. _I was inside your lover when he was inside of you_.”

Crowley grit his teeth together as hard as he could, his fingernails digging into his palm as his shark-smile got wider and more nasty. This was a mistake. Cecily had insisted that he try to make a professional overture - one businessman to another - just to cover their backs. He’d agreed reluctantly, even though all he wanted to do was destroy every last monster for what they’d done to his angel, but now? Turning their last days together into… what? Some voyeuristic, non-consensual threesome? He felt _filthy_ and he wanted to rip the monster’s head off with his bare hands.

“This is… business…” he spat out, as level as he could manage, trying not to let the way the words had hit home show. 

“Now it's your turn to listen. I'd sooner swim through hot garbage than shake hands with a bottom-feeding mutation like you… and that was _before_ I had to listen to all your pathetic, meaningless conversations with that poor excuse for an angel. You demons are ugly, lazy, gold-digging whores. You're less than humans, and _they're_ not good for much till you dip them in garlic sauce. I'd never work with you, Crowley. In fact, if I wasn't busy with better things, I might actively wipe your kind from the face of the Universe. And you'd deserve it. Are we clear?”

Perfectly clear, thought Crowley. Absolutely bloody crystal spring water from high up on the mountains clear. “Keep the muffins,” he said, taking a leaf from his ex-lover’s book and vanishing.

Much as he hated the Winchesters, he’d damn well give them access to all his legions if it meant stopping _that thing_.

Dick Roman had seriously made the wrong decision in angering the Winchesters, especially if he also upset the King of Hell. If Castiel and Crowley had been nigh-on unstoppable, with the Hunters too?

Oh they’d pay. They’d pay in their black, fucking blood.

***

“Please, let me help you,” Emmanuel offered. 

“Oh no, dearie, it’s quite alright. I’m sure I can manage a few dishes and trays.”

“I am sure you can.” 

Emmanuel let Mrs. Harrison continue bringing through the cakes for the bake sale as he tugged tables and chairs into place. He was glad to be giving something back to the community, it gave him a sense of accomplishment, and it made other people happy. He liked to make others happy. 

The banner wasn’t straight. He stood back. It was about one degree out. He had to change that, because he wanted it to be perfect. He moved the ladder over to the right and was half way up when he heard the bang and the pained gasp.

He wasn’t sure how he got there so fast, but the next few moments were a blur. Mrs. Harrison was lying on the floor, angel food cake all over her floral dress. Her leg was bent underneath her at an angle that was just clearly unnatural, and all the colour had gone from her face.

“ _Esther_!” Daphne cried out, rushing in from the kitchen. “Oh no, oh no… someone call an ambulance!”

Emmanuel wasn’t sure why, but he just… had to. He had to help. He took hold of the old woman’s hand, and strangely her breathing started to slow. Colour rose back into her cheeks, and the pain on her lips seemed to fade. 

“What are you doing?” Daphne shrilled.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, and then moved his hands down to her leg. He looked up at her, and she nodded. Carefully - oh so carefully - he pulled her leg out straight. He knew he wasn’t hurting her, somehow. He knew he was helping.

“What-- what are you--”

“Fixing her,” he explained, calmly. “Making it right.”

Above him, he could hear her head whipping back and forth, and at the end of the hall he heard the 911 operator calling ‘Hello? Hello? What service do you need?’

“Nothing,” said the priest, staring as Emmanuel helped Mrs. Harrison to her feet. “I’m… sorry. False alarm.”

“It’s a miracle,” the woman gushed, wrapping around him.

He supposed it was.


	40. Chapter 40

Cecily was leaning back against Scotius, sitting in between his legs on the floor with a glass of wine. She had started seeing him again a couple weeks after Crowley had completely broken down. 

“I just don’t get it… like… I give him _oodles_ of data and all this information - more than I’ve found in **weeks** and he just… shrugged.”

“He’s really fuckin’ depressed, babe. What do you expect?” 

“But it’s really important! I mean, why is Dick Roman digging in weird places? What is he trying to find? And then there’s all these businesses, and all the stuff with the food…”

“That’s what he’s got you for. You do all the work, and he takes the credit. That’s how management runs.”

“What if I miss something? I mean, I know I’m good at reading information, but he’s… he’s got so much more experience at this. And all he says is: ‘good job’ and sends me along, telling me to make sure the Winchesters aren’t disturbed. It’s like he expects them to sort everything out for us, when we are totes not their fave peeps.”

“The Winchesters _are_ good at what they do, Cec. If anyone can get the Leviathans, it’s them.” He leaned to rub at her shoulders, massaging some of the tension out. “Crowley will come around, don’t worry. He’s just suffering a momentary set-back, is all.”

“Yeah, but… I need him to get back on the wagon, okay. I need him to be King.”

“Well, you just gotta find something to kick him in his pants. Hit him where it hurts.”

“What do you mean?” Cecily looked up at him. “The one thing that he cared about the most is probs dead, so… I mean how else can you kick a guy when he’s down if he doesn’t care about anything?”

Scotius chuckled. “There _is_ something else he cares about enough to get him going, I’m sure… don’t you remember? **Souls**. Souls and deals.”

“Of course. Oh my God, how did I not…? I need a gullible crossroads demon - who’s the most likely to be lead into collecting early?” An evil grin spread across her face. Of course. If there was one thing left that would get Crowley motivated, it was this. But it would have to be oh-so-carefully handled. _Nothing_ could lead back to her involvement. _Nothing_. She was going to have to make him think it was all his own idea. 

“Well… the dumbest, but most ambitious? Is probably Guy. He’s a new promotee. Used to just do the background work, only recently been given the power to seal deals.”

“Sounds perf,” Cecily said, and dropped her head back in his lap to grin up at him. “You totes deserve a kiss for this plan. It’s worthy of _me_.”

Scotty laughed and bent down to rub noses together. “I was hoping for more than a kiss…”

Cecily swirled around the remains of her glass. “Another one of these, and you might just get what you’re looking for, mister.”

He fetched the bottle from the coffee table, pouring a generous slug in. “For you… anything.”

***

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Daphne, I am.”

“You don’t have to…”

“No, I want to. If I can help people… maybe that’s what God wanted. Maybe that’s why he made me appear in front of you. Maybe it’s what I was put on the planet for.”

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

He should possibly have expected it. He should have read the signs, but he just thought she was being friendly? All of a sudden Daphne had hold of the front of his shirt and she was arching up on her toes to kiss him. He didn’t really know what to do, so he stood completely still as she pressed her lips to his. 

How did you react to being kissed? What did you actually do? He just… stood and let her lips tease lightly at his, and didn’t breathe. Was he supposed to reciprocate? Didn’t you ask permission, first? Should he try to run his lips over hers in return? Whilst he was still trying to make his mind up, she lowered down onto the soles of her feet.

“I-- I’m sorry,” Daphne stammered.

“No… it’s okay…” he insisted, fingers going up to touch his lips. “I just… was not expecting you to do that, is all.”

“I… I won’t do it again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No… no. I shouldn’t have. I… I’ll… I’ll send the first person in.”

She left, then, which helped with some of the awkwardness. Emmanuel lowered his hand and waited. If his gift was healing, then it was only right he share it with as many people as possible. And if he threw himself into that, he could avoid the sinking feeling in his gut that the kiss had provoked. He was pretty certain kissing wasn’t supposed to do _that_.

He’d healed people of the parish, but now they’d put his details online at his urging - despite Daphne’s worries about staying hidden. He smiled at the visitor.

“Hello. Mackey, is it?”

***

Cecily showed up at a wedding Guy had planned, dressed up to the nines. Had to make a good impression, after all. She approached him by the bar with a smile. 

“Hey, Guy. Totes awesome party. I’m impressed.” She gave him a warm smile as she sipped her champagne. It was not a bad glass of fizz, either.

“Well, thank you, Cecily. You should know I never half-ass anything.” 

Cecily nodded, looking around, feigning interest in the elaborate decorations. In all honesty, weddings had bored here even as a mortal. Now? Now they were just expensive excuses for drunken debauchery and family feuds in nice clothes.

“What brings you here, sweetie? I know you weren’t on the guest list.” He grinned, picking up two glasses of champagne from a server passing by them and offering one to Cecily who had already finished her first glass.

“Thanks,” she smiled, taking it. Was he trying to be nice, or get her tipsy? It would take more than two flutes of this stuff if so. “Well… I heard the amazing Guy had planned this and I was curious to see what all the excitement was about. I must say, I’m def not disappointed.”

“Well thank you, doll. I _do_ have knack for this kinda thing.”

“Do you do this out of the goodness of your heart or does everyone you plan for give up their soul?” she grinned. 

Guy snorted. “Depends on how deep their pockets are. If they can’t afford the lavish event they dream of, I _do_ accept another form of currency.”

“How do I get into that… you know… deals?”

“Looking to get into the crossroads, huh?” Guy took a sip of his champagne.

“Maybe,” she grinned. “I have lots of questions, though…”

“Such as?”

“For starters… how strict are your rules?”

“Well, a deal’s a deal… my hands are tied.”

Cecily scrunched up her nose. “So like, you gotta wait ten years for your souls? There’s no way around it? Seems like a long time. I dunno if I’ve got the patience for all that.”

“Comes with the territory, sweetie. Can’t hang with the big dogs, stay on the porch,” he smirked.

“I guess Crowley wouldn’t have left any room for loopholes…” she took another sip from her glass.

“Sweetheart, you _know_ a deal’s a deal.”

“True… what happens when someone who made a deal like, gets in an accident or something?”

Guy tilted his head a bit and narrowed his eyes. “...we get the soul early…”

“Hmm. Well… maybe I don’t have the patience for all that. I’m more of an instant gratification kind of girl, anyway.” Cecily laughed. She could tell by the way Guy’s eyes were still looking off in the distance that her work was done. She smiled, finishing off her glass. “Well, sweetie… I have to run. I’ve got some things to do. _Very_ impressive wedding, though. If I ever get hitched, I’m calling you.”

Guy smiled at Cecily. “I look forward to it.”

***

Crowley had taken a notice around the same time that the Winchesters had about the sudden increase in _accidental_ deaths. After a very small amount of digging, every one of them had made a deal. 

The King of Hell was busy trying to formulate a plan when Jackson had emailed him. His suspicions were confirmed: Guy was collecting early, and using a pawn on his chessboard to do it.

He wasted no more time in addressing the matter, finding - who else - but the Winchesters, some female, the demon in question, and the one who reported him.

“Hello, boys.”

Dean, who had his back towards Crowley and a knife to the demon’s throat, turned his head towards the King of Hell. “Oh, crap.” The eldest Winchester moved behind Guy, arm around his neck so the knife was threatening the demon’s jugular.

“Sam, _mazel tov_. Who's the lucky lady?” Crowley asked.

“You're _Crowley_!” the blonde woman said.

“And you're-- well… I'm sure you have a wonderful personality, dear.”

“Ah! Another step, and I'll Colombian necktie your little friend here.” 

The Squirrel was so adorable when he got all threatening, wasn’t he? “Please, don't let him get off that easy.”

Guy was _more_ than nervous. Crowley could practically hear him shaking where he stood as he spoke. “Sir, I don't think that you--”

Crowley interrupted the younger demon at once. “I know _exactly_ what you've been doing. A little birdie named Jackson sold you out, e-mailed all the juicy deets to my suggestion box.” The King glanced at the lifeless body face down on the floor. “I assume… _that's_ my whistle-blower? Shame. Had a future. Unfortunately... _you don't_.”

Guy was almost in a panic now. “I was just--”

“There's only one rule: make a deal, keep it.”

“Well, technically, I didn't--”

“There's a _reason_ we don't call our chits in early: consumer confidence. This isn't _Wall Street_. **This is Hell!** We have a little something called _integrity_. This gets out, who'll deal with us? _Nobody!_ **Then where are we**?”

“I don't know.”

“That's right. You don't. Because you're a _stupid_ , shortsighted little prat. Now, hand the jackass over. I'll cancel every deal he's made.”

“What are you gonna do with him?” Dean asked.

“Make an example of him.” Crowley’s eyes darted back and forth between the Winchesters. “Fair trade, right? We all go our separate ways. No harm done.”

“What, out of the goodness of your heart?” Sam questioned skeptically.

“Years of demons nipping at your heels, haven't seen one for months. Wonder why?”

“We've been a little busy.” Dean still had the knife to Guy’s throat. If Crowley hadn’t wanted to make an example of that little prick so badly, he’d have blipped over and shoved that blade against Guy’s stupid little throat himself.

“Hunting Leviathan - yes, I know. That's why I told my lads to stay clear of you meatheads.”

The Hunters exchanged confused looks before the youngest spoke up. “So, what do you know about--”

No. No he was not having this conversation with these morons. He interrupted Sam. “Too much. You met that _dick_ yet? Smuggest tub of goo since Mussolini. I hate the bastards. Squash 'em all, please. I'll stay clear.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Rip up the contracts first.”

Crowley raised both hands and snapped, canceling out all the contracts Guy had made. “Done,” he glanced at Dean, then to Sam. “And done. Your turn,” he grinned.

It might have been this moment that Guy realised just _how_ much he had fucked up. “No, no, no, no. Let m--” He was cut off by Dean shoving him across the room towards Crowley.

“Pleasure, gentlemen.” A final glance at the Hunters and the King returned to Hades with Guy in tow.

“Please, just let me exp--”

Crowley’s hand was around Guy’s throat in an instant, squeezing mercilessly. “ _No_. I have worked long and hard to secure my reign. First as the King of the Crossroads, now, of Hell. I will **not** be undermined by some pathetic little demon who thinks of himself as an ‘innovator.’ Are we clear?”

“Y-yes.”

“Now I’m going to make sure everyone gets the memo, Guy. And what will you tell anyone who asks, while you still have a tongue with which to speak?”

“T-that… that no one should cross you, my Liege.”

“And?”

“...that… we honour our deals.”

A hand slapping the demon’s cheek. “Good boy. Shame you learned it too late to do you any real good, though, but if you can’t be a shining example you can be a terrible warning.” 

***

Although he couldn't quite say he was happy with having to deal with demons besmirching the good name of Hell, Crowley did have to admit he felt... more like the old Crowley. More than he had in a while. He felt... on top of things.

It was time he pulled himself together. Time he acted like the mature, together King of Hell he knew he was. Which meant - though it tied his gut in knots - he had to face facts. He called Cecily in to his office, the professional facade back in place.

"Do you know why I asked you here?" he asked.

Cecily chewed on the inside of her bottom lip. She was kind of hoping this would be one of those things that was forgotten about. She was only lying to herself when she thought the King of Hell - once he picked himself up and dusted himself off - would actually _forget_ something. She had known from the beginning that he **knew** she was hiding something from him.

"I have a general idea, yes..." but she didn't want to say it first. On the off chance that he maybe, possibly, he _had_ forgotten.

"Then you know that I appreciate you trying to protect me when I was... less than my usual together self. But Daddy's back, Cecily, and I need... to know that I have everything at my disposal."

The younger demon nodded with a small smile. "I have something for you. I found it... rather quickly... I'll be back soon with it."

Cecily left and headed straight to her office to retrieve Castiel's overcoat. It still hung in its new black garment bag, dry cleaned and looking good as new - all traces of the ichor and blood had been removed. She hurried back to Hell, the bag folded gently over her arm as she walked towards the King.

"--I... this was all I could find. I'm... sorry I kept it from you." She picked the bag up by the hanger and offered it to Crowley.

The muscles around his jaw twitched with repressed emotion. On some level he'd known. He'd been there in the angel's mind, seen how intimidated he'd been by the smiling Leviathan. Castiel hadn't been ready to fight. He hadn't been prepared for it. Crowley had been in denial for many long weeks, not ready to admit what he knew on some level to be true. Unwilling to face a world without Castiel.

But every day that passed, every day that no miracle happened, no flap of wings brought his lover home...

Crowley took the coat she held out, willing his hands not to shake.

"Thank you, darling," he said, voice subdued. He rubbed a thumb against the crackling bag. He wanted to open it up to see if it still smelled of him, but... Not in front of his staff. He laid it over his lap and took a heavy breath in. 

"You're welcome." Cecily gave a small nod, lips pressed into a thin line. She wasn't exactly sure what to say. What _did_ you say to someone who is being faced with the reality that despite all your positive thinking, perhaps the worst **was** really upon you. 

Her eyes ran over Crowley's face. She could see the hurt, the anguish. She wanted to pull him into a hug and tell him it was going to be alright. But the King was being professional and throwing her arms around him would hardly echo his demeanor. 

"Anything you need, you just let me know." Her voice was quiet and sincere. 

"I think - I know you didn't know him personally--" past tense. Wince. "But you saw what good work he did. I would be honoured if you would join me for a drink... to absent friends."

"Of course. _I_ would be honoured."

He folded the coat properly, lying it on the edge of the desk. Damn coat. Many a time had that familiar tan colour, the skew-wiff blue tie annoyed him. Plenty more times had they decorated his floor as they undressed in a hurry to... to…

His tongue stole out past his lips as he poured them both a glass of Craig. He'd shared that, too, with the angel. There were going to be many things that held an echo of him. He hadn't realised quite how much the angel had wound his way into his life until he'd gone. A slow sigh. "He never really appreciated a good tipple, you know. He'd take it out of courtesy. He wasn't good at being an epicure."

Crowley lifted his glass in silent salute. "He would think this was a stupid way to remember him, but then again he's not here to criticise me."

Cecily raised her glass as well. "I'm sure he would agree that it was totes **you** though. I actually think he'd be disappointed if you _didn't_ drink to him," she said, offering him a smile.

"Bloody dumb bird would probably baulk at the thought of anyone holding a wake for him, you know? I mean. He'd already died twice." That made his eyes sting, so he chased it down with a gulp of Scotland's finest. "Not sure anyone really grieved him the last two times. Probably not. Those stupid humans never saw what an incredible friend they were losing. Too wrapped up in themselves."

Hand on his knee, rocking his leg back and forth. "He was too good for me, too, but at least... at least I..."

What? Tried to cut him off from his friends, tainted him with damned souls, pushed him ever darker? Encouraged him to sin just enough to survive? "Yeah. Maybe I wasn't so good for him, but I _am_ the King of Hell. And I..."

He couldn't say it, even now? He'd said it - power-mad and spiteful - to the brothers, the drunk and the angel. But to Cecily, who had to know?

"I... loved him as well as I was able to. Maybe not the love he needed or deserved, but the best I had to offer."

Cecily listened, staring down at her glass. “Sometimes all anyone needs is someone’s best. You were exactly what he needed - I’m sure of it - because he was exactly what _you_ needed.”

Exactly what he'd needed. Oh, had he been. A flash of beautiful light in the darkness that was Hell. Someone who knew all about him and - in the end - hadn't cared. Someone who had seen him at his worst, but still somehow been able to find enough in him worth loving. Someone he'd been able to work with, someone he'd enjoyed spending time with, someone he hadn't minded letting see his fears or his worries.

Someone beautiful inside, not just outside. An angel truly, with those eyes of his. A brave, strong soldier. All those things that no one else would ever know about him. All those things that had been for him and him alone.

"I should have stopped him sooner. I should have protected him. He was always so ready to save me - or those Hunters - but when he needed a guardian? Who was there for him?" Crowley dabbed at his eyes with his thumb. "I'll never forgive myself for that. For... not taking better care of him. He was so brave. So loving. I... wish you'd met him. You'd see why I loved him. It would be impossible to know him and not fall for him."

“You don’t seem the type to fall for a pushover, so I’m fairly certain if he had made up his mind to do something, he wouldn’t be swayed. Don’t put that on yourself, Crowley.” She took a sip from her glass. “And if _you_ loved him, I’m sure he was quite the catch. Def easy on the eyes,” she winked.

Crowley snorted. “You couldn’t accuse him of being a pushover. We - ah - butted heads on more than one occasion.” If anything, the demon thought, I was the pushover. “And mind yourself. Yes… he wasn’t hard to look at, but that’s not why I loved him, and I think you understand.”

“Of course it’s not. You’re much more complex than that.” The younger demon looked down again. There were so many things she wanted to say. So many _I’m sorrys_ , _it’ll get better_ , _it’s not your fault_ , but none of them seemed right. She lifted her glass, in a toast. “To your angel.”

“To my angel,” he agreed, echoing the gesture and then downing the remains of his glass. He cleared his throat and nodded at her, wanting to dismiss her without seeming abrupt.

Cecily finished her glass as well and stood, understanding Crowley needed his space. She stood, giving him a reassuring look. “Anything you need, lemme know.”

She stopped at the door, turning back to face the King of Hell. One last smile and she was gone. 

“I will,” he said, with a nod. “Don’t worry.”

And when she was gone, he picked up the coat-bag and opened it up. He ran his fingers over the lapel, then lifted it up to breathe in. He couldn’t really smell the angel, it was all in his head… he walked over to the closet and hung the coat up alongside his suit jackets, tugging it to fall straight. And then he closed the door, went back to his chair, and had one more drink.

“I’m going to miss you, Cas. I’m going to miss you a whole Hell of a lot.”


	41. Chapter 41

Dean flew down the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other against his head. He wondered if this was how Sam had felt when he was searching for the man who had healed Dean all those years ago. He also wondered if he’d run into the same kind of thing: some kind of hoodoo or witchcraft… 

Of course he hoped it wasn’t. But there was only one thing he knew of that could heal without a price - and the only one of those he trusted was no longer alive. He rubbed his hand down his face - not because he was tired, just because he needed the reassurance, somehow.

Could he have tried harder to help Cas? The angel didn’t even want his help… no. There was nothing more Dean could’ve done. 

Maybe if he said it enough, he would stop blaming himself.

Maybe if he’d been more supportive of Cas? Instead of pushing him away… pushing him towards the demon and that ridiculous plan. If he’d have tried to understand what Cas was thinking, maybe? Their conversations never got farther than ‘I need to stop Raphael.’ Should he have listened more? Probably. But his anger over the whole working with the devil thing…

If Dean was honest with himself… he’d worked with Crowley, too… the whole Colt thing and trying to kill Lucifer. Maybe Crowley _had_ been honest in that he didn’t know it wouldn’t work, but that was beside the point.

Crowley was a demon. Dean was a Hunter. Hunters ganked demons. End of story. Angels were supposed to be the good guys. They weren’t supposed to play both sides. They weren’t supposed to take in evil souls. And they sure as Hell weren’t meant to play God.

Dean slammed a hand on the steering wheel. “ **Damn it, Cas**!”

Stupid fucking angel. Stupid fucking plan. The Hunter had grown far too dependent on Castiel and his help… and the protection he offered the Winchesters. Everything he had done for them…

“Why’d you have to go and get yourself killed.” 

Dean popped in a cassette tape and turned the radio up as far as it would go. He was done listening to the mess in his head - at least for now. 

Finally, he arrived at the address he’d been given. He took a deep breath and shook his head, bracing himself as he made his way up the front porch and knocked on the door. After a moment, a man opened the door.

“Hi. Uh, is this, uh, Daphne Allen's house? I'm looking for Emmanuel,” Dean asked.

“Well, you found him. Daphne's resting. If you don't mind.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

Emmanuel stepped outside, closing the front door behind him.

“Um… so, I was hoping, uh…” Dean’s eyes wandered to the window where he caught sight of a woman bound and gagged. He looked back quickly at Emmanuel. His eyes turned pitch black, but before Dean could react, the demon threw him against the front door, cracking the glass where his head hit.

“You were saying, _Dean_?”

“You know, I'd think twice. Or don't you know that your boss issued a hands-off memo?”

The demon laughed. “Please. What have you done for him lately? Roman's head on a plate? No? Whatever Emmanuel is, Crowley's gonna want him – a lot more than he wants you these days. So…”

The demon moved towards Dean, but the Hunter moved faster, shoving the demon blade in and watching for a moment as it burned from the inside out. Dean shoved the demon down the stairs as he pulled out the blade. His face fell and his heart stopped when the dead demon landed at someone’s feet. The Hunter couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man standing there, staring up at him. It looked like…

No…

Couldn’t be… Castiel?

“What was that?” the man said, his eyes wide with horror. Whatever it had been, it hadn’t been _human_. And then something obviously clicked inside his head. “Daphne!” The door was shut, but the thing - _monster_ had clearly been inside. He could see this other man was not a monster, so he pushed past him and into the house.

Dean stood, mouth gaping open as the man who was the spitting image of Cas moved past him without the slightest hint of recognition and towards the woman in the chair. He slowly walked in the house after him, eyes wide.

“That creature hurt you,” Emmanuel said, bending to pull the gag and ropes free, looking utterly worried, only settling when he could see she was not seriously injured.

“I'm okay,” she insisted. “But, Emmanuel... they were looking for you.”

“It's okay,” he said, as reassuringly as he could. Then - because the man had saved her - he turned to greet him properly. “I’m Emmanuel.”

Dean grabbed _Emmanuel’s_ hand and shook it. “Dean. I'm… Dean.”

“Thank you for protecting Daphne.”

Daphne. Okay… whoever the fuck she was. “Sure, no problem.”

“I saw his face. His real face.” Emmanuel squinted in confusion, wondering if the other man had been able to see it, too.

“He was a demon.” The Hunter raised his eyebrows. Castiel should know that. Why didn’t he know that…?

“A demon walked the Earth…” He sounded incredulous. Demons? On the Earth? That was terrible news. Demons were horrible creatures, and surely if they could walk the planet then they could do untold harm.

“ _Demons_ ,” Dean corrected. “Shit loads of them. You don't know about…?” 

“You saw the demon's true face,” Daphne said, looking at the healer. “Emmanuel has very special gifts,” she added, to Dean. She sounded ever-so-slightly awestruck.

Dean gave a slight nod. “Yeah. I-- I've heard that about... Emmanuel. That you can heal people up.”

“I seem to be able to help to a certain degree,” he agreed, modestly. “What's your issue?”

“My brother.”

“Where is your brother? Is he in the hospital?”

“He’s in _a_ hospital… a mental hospital.”

“...where?”

“Indiana… I know it’s a bit of a drive. But…” _You did this to him. You promised you would fix him. I know you’re in there_. “It’s my brother, man. And he’s real bad off.”

“You gotta go, sweetie,” Daphne said, rubbing his arm. “He saved me.”

“But what if they come back - what if the demons come back for her? I can’t just abandon her, Dean. How do I protect her?”

“Salt lines on the doors and windows and get yourself some Holy water. Works like a charm.”

“And that will prevent demons from hurting her? What if she needs to leave the house? How can she be safe outside?”

Dean searched the pockets of his overshirt and found the small anti-possession charm that Bobby had given him. He didn’t need it anymore after all: he had the tattoo. The only thing he was holding onto it for was sentimental value, but if it got Cas back to save Sammy, then there was no question - he didn’t need it. 

He offered the charm to Daphne. “Anti-possession charm. Demons can’t possess you if you’ve got this bad boy on.”

Daphne took it, and slipped it into her bra. “Thank you, Dean.”

Emmanuel fought not to roll his eyes at that. “Alright. It looks as though she is determined for me to go with you. I will need some time to pack. Could you come back for me at, say, four?”

“Yeah sure,” the Hunter nodded, looking at the two of them. “I’ll see ya then.” He gave a small smile. “And uh,” Cas. “Emmanuel… thanks.”

“No… thank _you_ ,” Emmanuel insisted. “If he had hurt Daphne… I am glad you came. Now… if you would please excuse me, I must do this - salt - as you have suggested. It is important no one is hurt on my account.”

“Yes, thank you,” Daphne added, patting at her bosom. “For this, too.”

***

Dean came back as promised and left with _Emmanuel_. Dean listened intently as the blissfully unaware angel told him how he came to be in the position he was now: how Daphne found him him while she was hiking and took him in. How he picked his name from site with suggestions for baby names, and how he first discovered he could heal when Mrs. Harrison fell from the ladder. How, ever since, he’d been sharing his gift with the world, and living with Daphne who had adopted him as her brother.

They sat in silence for a moment. Emmanuel had said he ‘didn’t feel like a bad person’ and Dean had to hold back his scoff. _If he only knew_. Emmanuel might not be a bad person, but Cas had done some pretty shitty things, and Dean had a hard time forgetting them when he looked at the angel.

“So, your brother…” Emmanuel said, breaking the silence.

“Sam,” Dean offered.

Emmanuel smiled thoughtfully. “Sam. What's his diagnosis?”

“Well, it's not exactly medical.” Nope. Tortured by the Devil himself, unable to sleep, and driven mad by the lingering psychic damage that only Lucifer himself could perpetuate. Not really like you could take Prozac for that.

“That should be fine. I can cure illness of a spiritual origin.”

“Spiritual? Okay.” One way to think of it, he supposed. “Someone did this to him.” You son of a bitch.

“You're angry.” Emmanuel looked at Dean carefully, eyes narrowing. He could feel so much negative energy coming off of the man behind the steering wheel - it was slightly disturbing. Emmanuel was used to people either being upset or angry with God because of their misfortunes, but this felt… stronger. He could _see_ the darkness hanging over him like a cloud.

“Well, yeah. Dude broke my brother's head.” And did worse. Nearly destroyed the planet, dealing with the Devil, and then released Leviathans into the world.

Emmanuel could read between the lines. “He betrayed you, this dude. He was your friend?”

“Yeah, well, he's gone.” And he ain’t comin’ back apparently.

“Did you kill him?” Emmanuel narrowed his eyes at the Hunter. “I sense that you kill a lot of people.”

The Hell sort of question was that? Dean started, feeling guilty. They _had_ asked Crowley for help with summoning Death, yeah, but that… it was only a last resort.

“Honestly, I-- I-- I don't know if he is dead.” Dean stammered, opting to ignore the difficult discussion about his previous plans. And the fact that ‘Emmanuel’ could see the blood on his hands. “I just know that this… whole thing couldn't be messier. You know, I used to be able to just shake this stuff off. You know, whatever it was. It might take me some time, but... I always could. What Cas did… I just can't – I don't know why.” 

“Well, it doesn't matter why.”

“Of course it matters.” Dean had to fight not to yell.

“Not really. It’s already come to pass. There’s nothing you can do to change it. God _does_ let everything happen for a reason, you know.” Emmanuel offered his most comforting smile. “Your friend's name was Cas? That's an odd name.”

Dean shook his head, focusing on the road. _What the fuck, Cas?_ He wanted to argue the existence of God, but at the same time he **really** didn’t want to get into the conversation - especially not with _this_ side of not-Castiel. There was no point trying to be rational with the fundamentalists, and a faith-healing amnesiac angel was probably about the worst example of fundamentalism possible.

Emmanuel could sense that Dean no longer wanted to speak, and he was not prepared to be comforted. It was dark, so he laid his head against the window and closed his eyes, letting his mind drift into fitful sleep, rocked by the motion of the car on the asphalt below. As he dreamt, he let the sounds and vibrations of the journey lull him into somewhere else: he was still riding in a car with Dean, but now it was a bit louder… and much better taken care of. Emmanuel was troubled - there was a strange, knotting sensation in his gut, in the dream. He knew, with the absolute clarity of the dreamer, that he was lying to Dean - why was he lying? 

Emmanuel didn’t lie, but he was _clearly_ concealing something, as was Dean. Why were the two speaking falsely to each other? And what was a Djinn? It sounded familiar… whatever it was, Sam - Dean’s brother - was hunting one. He had known that Dean was a killer. Was this what he killed? Djinn?

Dean looked over every so often at Emmanuel, his eyes sliding from the road to his slightly frowning face. Angels didn’t sleep… so why was he? _Was_ he sleeping? If he was, why did he need to? His angel powers seemed to be intact… Dean focused on the road, the humming of the car’s engine providing a steady background noise as the dotted white lines of the road blended together with every passing mile.


	42. Chapter 42

Emmanuel opened his eyes as the sun crept up above the horizon. He always woke with the dawn, when he sensed the light sliding over his face.

“Sleep okay?” the Hunter asked.

Why did everyone always feel the need to ask that? “Yes. Thank you. Where are we now?”

“Gotta make a little pit stop first… we should be at the hospital by nightfall.”

He pulled the car in, leaving C-- leaving Emmanuel inside. Mostly to get some distance between them, because it was becoming harder and harder to keep the bubbling anger from boiling over. 

Of all the things he’d thought he’d find, coming face to face with Castiel had been… rough. Especially because he was still angry with him, but irrationally so. It wasn’t ‘Cas’ right now. It was ‘Emmanuel’, which meant he had to fight his anger and his disappointment because it was unfair to hold him accountable for things he didn’t remember doing. Dean felt robbed of his rightful closure, his just rage. There were so many things he wanted to say, but not… not to that blank face. Especially not if he wanted Cas - Emmanuel - whatever - to help him, first.

Dean was not expecting the demons to attack him in the gas station and he sure as Hell wasn’t expecting Meg to show up and save his ass, though he shouldn’t put it past Crowley. Damned demon always seemed to be getting in the way, and if he’d found out it was Cas healing people? Yeah. Not so good.

Then there was Meg. The enemy of his enemy. He couldn’t if he wanted to gank her or hug her. Probably gank. Yeah… gank her.

But he didn’t gank her, only because she was useful in a fight, and because she hated Crowley maybe as much as he did.

After an awkward introduction to Emmanuel came an even _more_ awkward day-long car ride, where Meg made cheery comments, and Emmanuel frowned like he either didn’t understand or couldn’t get past the fact she was a demon (oh the irony) they **finally** arrived at the hospital. Dean had had just about enough coincidental reunions for the day, and nothing made him happier than a damned angel _and_ a demon in Baby. He was fairly sure he was going to have no teeth left by the end of the week, from how hard he was grinding them.

Meg’s smug, self-satisfied smirking just made his skin crawl. Really, she could give Crowley a run for his money. No wonder they hated one another. And she had to be remembering that kiss they’d shared. Which - come to think - that was _two_ demons Cas had kissed. Did the angel have a frigging type?

Thank God they were almost there.

***

It took awhile to reach Cecily’s radar, but soon enough the report came through that a couple of Hunters had been investigating the same thing - a faith healer based in Colorado who went by the name Emmanuel. There was _no_ information on him - where he came from, past addresses, family - nothing. Only that he lived with a woman named Daphne. They seemed to stay off the radar and they both had clean records. She supposed if she became a faith healer, she might change her name, too. 

Cecily sent a demon to investigate while she continued to dig for information on the Leviathans. An entire day passed and she hadn’t heard from the demon… so she sent another to investigate. Turns out, Dean Winchester himself had made an appearance - of course Dean went looking for a miracle for Sam. He and Emmanuel had left together, headed back towards poor little broken Sammy.

She sent some more demons to try and intercept Dean on the road, but she never heard back from them _either_. If she couldn’t catch him enroute, there was one place she sure as Hell could.

Cecily’s demons surrounded the mental hospital, blocking every entrance. She wasn’t going to miss them again. Not this time. She was curious about Emmanuel now… very curious. Dean was going to great lengths to destroy all the demons he came into contact with… why was that?

_What are you hiding, Dean Winchester?_

***

They parked a little ways away from the emergency entrance, because Dean had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn’t likely to be a cakewalk either.

“Oh, gracious,” Emmanuel said. Monsters. _Everywhere_.

The Hunter raised his binoculars to get a closer look.

“Damn it. Demons,” Meg all but growled.

“All of them?” Dean asked.

“No grass growing under your feet.”

Emmanuel looked around, brow furrowed. “How many of those knives do you have?”

“Just the one.” Dean’s voice already sounded defeated. There was no way all those demons were going to just _let_ an angel in there.

“Well, then, forgive me, but what do we do?”

Meg smiled her sickeningly sweet-sarcastic smile at the Hunter. “Yeah, Dean. Got any other ideas how we could blast through that?”

“Excuse us,” Dean said, pulling the demon aside. “Meg?”

“Oh, for the love of…” But Meg followed Dean a few feet away from Emmanuel. “Sam's in there. I know you're enjoying the double dip with your old pal, but--”

“You think it's that cut and dry? Really? You know what he did. And you want to tell him and just hope that he takes it in stride?” Not even like he wanted to be the one to say: by the way, you went mad, shacked up with the Devil, went serial-killing crazy and then vanished? “He could snap. He could… disappear. Who knows?”

Dean needed him to hold it together just long enough to fix Sammy. After that… after that they could work out what to do with him. But first?

Emmanuel turned to face them. “I gather we know each other…”

Meg grinned. “Just a dollop.”

Why would they keep something like this from him? If they knew something about who he was, why would they hide it? “You can tell me. I'll be fine.”

“How do you know? You just met yourself. I've known you for years.” Dean was trying to convince himself the reason he didn’t want to tell Cas was that he was worried he would snap - just like Sam. Yeah… that was the only reason… 

“You're an angel.” Meg blurted out. 

Dean gave the demon a look that conveyed just _how_ done he was with her. If he didn’t potentially need her in the fight, then… yeah.

Emmanuel furrowed his brow in confusion, eyes narrowing. “I'm sorry? Is that a flirtation?” He was really terrible with this kind of thing… perhaps he should have spoken in more length about it with Daphne when he had the chance. He knew the demon kept looking at him, and for some reason he felt a sudden craving for pizza.

“No, it's a species. A very powerful one,” she explained.

“She's not lying. Okay?” If the bitch was going to risk mental trauma, then… well. He’d just have to roll with it and hope for the best. “That's why you heal people. You don't eat. I'm sure there's more.”

Confusion flooded Emmanuel’s very being. Was he hearing this properly? An angel? Wings and a halo… guarding people from evil… He did not feel like an angel. He just felt like someone with a gift. Something he wanted to share. “Why wouldn't you tell me? Being an angel… it sounds pleasant.”

“It's not, trust me. It's bloody, it's corrupt. It's _not_ pleasant.”

“He would know. You used to fight together. Bestest friends, actually.” The demon was smirking, still. She never seemed to stop.

“We're... friends?” Emmanuel thought for a moment, lips pressed tightly together. He already knew the answer to the question before he asked it. “Am I Cas?” He had to be. It explained why Dean had been so cross with him, of course. “I-- I had no idea. I don't remember you. I'm sorry.”

Dean nodded. _Fucking **great**_. 

“Look,” Meg spoke up. “You got the juice. You can smite every demon in that lot.”

Emmanuel turned towards the hospital with the demons standing guard out front. There were so many of them, all of them aggressive and waiting to hurt him. “...but I don't remember how.”

Dean moved next to Castiel. “It's in there. I'm sure it's just like riding a bike.”

Terror filled the… _angel_. He looked at Dean, fear in his eyes. “I don't know how to do that, either.” 

Dean rolled his eyes, stopping just in time for Cas to meet his gaze. The Hunter had no words. It sure didn’t seem like Castiel was back.

He looked so disappointed with him, so… unhappy. Emmanuel - Cas - felt guilty, without even knowing what for. He had to try and make it up, whatever it was he had done. ”All right, I'll try.”

Dean watched Cas walk towards the demons with a purpose. “This ain't gonna go well.”

“I don't know. I believe in the little tree topper.” 

The demon was smiling. Crazy bitch. She was insane… but it seemed her belief in Cas was sincere.

Castiel approached the entrance, the glow from the lights cast an eerie glow over the demon’s true faces. The angel approached the one standing dressed as a paramedic first. 

“Hey, I know you. You're dead…” said the monster.

“Yes, I've heard.” Castiel grabbed a fistful of the demon’s jacket and placed his hand on the demon’s head. The angel barely heard it scream as white _Grace_ flowed from him into the demon, burning him from the inside out. Suddenly, he remembered appearing in a warehouse covered in sigils from every religion, every bit of lore. Sparks flew from the lights that were adjusting to the sheer **power** the angel radiated. Dean was there, and Castiel was showing him the shadow of his wings, rising up behind this borrowed vessel that was simply a mask to cover over his true form. _I’m an angel of the Lord_.

Feeling more confident, he moved to the next two demons, hands on their heads, smiting them with the power of Heaven pouring from his hands. A second memory: Dean was still there, he was helping him with an angel banishing sigil... and then there was Sam and Castiel was breaking down the wall in his head that Death had put up to protect him. It was the reason Sam was in this place. It was his fault. _He_ had done this.

Another: it was the man he had seen so often in his dream - the one with the amber eyes and the pleasant voice. He was handing him a jar of blood. In the next blink, he was underneath Castiel, who was growling into his ear. Their lips were pressed together and then the man - Crowley - was on the floor, hurt... by Castiel’s hands - crying out for him. They were in Purgatory, in the dark, afraid and hunted, and as Castiel told him to leave the Leviathan kicked the demon out. Then there was nothing. Nothing at all.

From their vantage point, watching the light show, Meg beamed. “That's my boy.”

Castiel had frozen momentarily and one of the demons tried to flee. But Castiel was faster than he was, now, and with a flap of his wings he appeared directly in front of the demon. “I don't think running will save you.” Another monster with the Hell burnt out of him.

Meg and Dean walked up behind the angel. 

“That was beautiful, Clarence.”

The Hunter stared at the angel who still had his back to them. “Cas?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. Dean you _son of a bitch_. “I remember you.” He turned to face the two - pissed as Hell. “I remember everything.”

Oh yes. He remembered the way Dean had refused to accept his plan, had thrown ultimatums in his face. He remembered Dean calling him family and then denying they were friends at all. He remembered, too, his power-mad cry for attention and love… He was not blameless, not by a long shot. But Dean? Again he was here wanting something from him. Wanting his powers, not _him_. Was he really just going to leave him locked inside his own broken mind? Wasn’t he ever going to set Cas’ mind free?

The only person he wanted to see was Crowley. The only reason he was staying was because he _did_ feel guilty about Sam - it was his fault that he was stuck here, was it not? He should at least make this right. 

“What I did. What I became. Why didn't you tell me?”

Cas remembered… the acts he’d done in His name. The times spent convinced he was the new God - because Crowley had said he was. And because the world… _needed_ one. (Was it the world, or was it he, himself?)

“Because Sam is dying in there.”

Of course. It was always Sam. 

“Because of me. Everything. All these people…” _Demons_. “I shouldn't be here.” Demons looking for him. Crowley… was the King looking for him, even after all this time? Was it Castiel they wanted, or was it Emmanuel?

Would he even still be welcome, back in Hell? Would his latest disappearing act be one time too many? Crowley had tried to warn him, at the end. Tried to save him from his ever-increasing madness. His ever-spiralling power-crazed high. But he’d told him to leave - let the Leviathan cast him out, and…

… _was he even still alive_? Cas started to pace off, the memory of his demon on the ground, prone, rising up like a wave that hit him in the chest. Was Crowley okay? Did he still have Hell? Was he even… was...

“Cas. Cas!” Dean was calling out to him, though he tried to ignore him. “You stay here,” he heard him tell Meg. “ **Cas**!”

“If you remember, then you know you did the best you could at the time,” Dean said, scurrying after him.

Oh, now he saw Castiel’s side, suddenly? Why the change of heart? Not so long ago he’d been telling Emmanuel about his dick-ex-friend and how he might not want to remember what he’d done, but now? Now he was useful again?

“Don't defend me,” he insisted, but more because he couldn’t stand the hypocrisy than that he objected to the principle. “Do you have any idea the death toll in Heaven? On Earth?”

He had killed so many angels, once he’d taken the souls in. All of Raphael’s faithful. _All_. Even Balthazar had not been able to discourage him from his bloodlust. And then there were the _humans_. He remembered his holy mission to punish the wicked, the unjust. Yes, they had sinned, but no… he did not - at least now - agree with how he had treated them.

He had… gone mad. He’d become _worse_ than a demon.

Castiel stopped walking, and turned to face his shadow. “We didn't part friends, Dean.” Worse. Enemies.

“So what?”

So what?

“I thought I was God, Dean. I took the law into my own hands. I showed no mercy, no love… I _destroyed_ people. I _destroyed **Sam**_. Now, I can't possibly fix it... so why did I even walk out of that river?”

Why indeed. The world would probably have been better off without him. Better off without an angel who wreaked havoc and destruction wherever he went.

“Maybe to fix it... Cas. Look… so you fucked up. We all fuck up, man. But… this is your chance to start all over, you know? Maybe that’s why you were healing people, you know?”

It… had felt good. Helping people. Curing them. It had given him a sense of… purpose. It had felt… right. Like it was what God wanted. Why did He keep bringing Cas back? It couldn’t be for any other reason than to torture him, now. Last time, Crowley had convinced him this was all about him, was all… some ineffable plan… and look where that had landed them?

Crowley. His gut twisted tighter. He would try to find him, try to explain why he’d been gone. But first… one last miracle. One last person to heal. And it was an injury of his own making, too.

***

“Amazing,” Marcus said, sounding impressed. You just take those lickings, don't you, kid? Well, if it's meat, you can cook it. You just got to turn up the heat…” The demon turned back to the electroshock machine, prepared to crank the dials once more.

Instead, there was an angel in the way. Castiel lifted his hand and burned the smoke right out of the meatsuit, the stench of cooking flesh filling the room. It was only fair, after all. When he dropped, Cas turned off the machine and carefully pulled off the electrodes, tugged loose the mouth guard.

“I should never have broken your wall, Sam,” he said, regret making his heart heavy. Perhaps he was a ‘bad guy’ after all. “I'm here to make it right.”

Cas reached up and… no. The healing didn’t work. Sam seemed just as sick, just as worried. He startled, his eyes filled with fear.

“You’re not real,” Sam told the Castiel-who-looked-like-Lucifer.

“Oh, Sam... I'm so sorry…” 

It was worse than he had thought.


	43. Chapter 43

“I see that third little pig was smart. Went out and got some bricks,” Lucifer said, leafing through the book, perched by Sam’s bed side.

Sam winced. The third little pig… Adam… he knew where _he_ was. Smart was not the right word.

“What the hell do you mean you can't?” Dean insisted. He’d gone to all this effort, and for what?

“I mean,” Cas explained, as patiently as he could, “there's nothing left to rebuild.”

“Why not?”

“Because it crumbled. The pieces got crushed to dust by whatever's happening inside his head right now.” And it was all his fault. Whatever traces of the wall he’d once left behind, he knew that the crack he’d put in had been enough to let this - this _damage_ run riot through what remained of Sam’s mind.

Of course, it had only been a matter of time before it happened anyway, but Cas knew that was no defence for his actions,

“So you're saying there's nothing? That he's gonna be like this until his candle blows out?”

“I'm sorry.” Cas felt like he spent half his life saying that. “This isn't a problem I can make disappear. And you know that.” If he could fix it, he would. If he could snap his fingers and undo all the damage - restore the younger Winchester, he would.

Although… a thought occured. “But I may be able to shift it.”

“Shift?” Dean echoed.

Right. Of course he would need it in black and white. Cas didn’t really want to say it, unless he had to. “Yeah, it would get Sam back on his feet.”

The angel shuffled closer on the bed, trying to convince himself. It was a good plan. It was. “It's better this way. I'll be fine.” If he didn’t say it… Sam flinched away from him, and that hurt, too. He could do it. He could take it inside. He wished he’d had time to speak to Crowley, first, but it would have just led to another argument about him putting the Winchesters first, even though they never returned the favour. And it was not - on any level - like he was hiding from him. (If he was even…)

“Wait, Cas, what are you doing?” Dean was starting to sound worried.

“Now, Sam…”

“This may hurt,” Lucifer said, to Sam. “And if I can't tell you again…”

“...I'm sorry I ever did this to you.” He lifted his hand and placed it on the younger brother’s head. Sam groaned in pain, his eyes flaring bright red. The colour pushed into the angel’s arm like poison in the blood, glowing all the way until it coloured the angel’s blue eyes. Sam struggled for breath as the damage was pulled from him by degrees.

“Sam?” Dean got up, walking around to the other side of the bed.

“Dean!”

“Sam!” Relief, now.

The Hunter turned back to the angel on the other side, shocked to see him alive. “Cas? Cas, is that you?”

But Castiel looked at the Sam-who-was-Lucifer in horror.

“Hello… brother…” the archangel said, with a wide grin. As the siblings looked to one another in confusion, he laughed.

Castiel blinked, swallowing hard. Why was no one else worried about Lucifer? He glanced back at those stupid Winchesters. Were they really so self absorbed and confident that they were just going to stand there and ignore Satan himself?

"Lucifer... wh-what do you want?" The seraph tried to sound calm - and failed miserably.

Lucifer climbed gracefully off the bed, walking towards the other angel, who was backing up pitifully. “What do I want? Oh… oh Castiel… where do I start?” He followed, until the he was backed right against the wall, still smiling all the while. “What do you _think_ I want? Isn’t that how therapy works? You _think_?”

The seraph's hands were splayed against the wall hoping to stumble upon something, anything that would be of assistance.

"Dean! **Dean**!" He cried out for help, but the Winchesters had already gone. There was nothing left except Castiel and Lucifer.

This didn't look like Hell, not in the least, but how had Lucifer gotten out of the Cage? He said nothing to the archangel, only hoped he could perhaps sink into the wall and disappear.

“Oh, you think Dean will help? He got what he came for. He got his Sammy back. Why would he stay any longer? You’re no use to him, you know. You’re no use to _anyone_. You know that, right? You know he’s glad to have a reason to leave you here… with me?”  
Cas looked anywhere except at Lucifer. The words stung - deeply. "That's not true," he mumbled weakly. He didn't believe himself for a moment. The situation was exactly as he had feared... Dean leaving the moment Sam was better. Nevermind the one who did the saving was now left in a locked ward with the Devil himself.

_The Devil._

If the Devil was out, what had happened to the demon running Hell? Castiel's breaths were shaky and he raised his eyes to meet Lucifer's.

_Mistake._

Lucifer’s head was to one side, mimicking Castiel’s curious frown-and-tilt-and-squint, an over-exaggerated pout on his lips. “No? Not true? Then why did he bring you here under a false name, keep you in the dark? Why did he point you at Sam and beg, and then…” He walked his fingers towards the door, then made a ‘poof’ gesture. “No. They’ve gone to get you help. Of course they have. Only…”

He leaned in, smile going **feral**. “Who can help you, little brother? When _you_ were _their_ last hope? Hmm? No… now you’re conveniently left here, with the demon-bitch, because you’re a dirty, filthy little secret… aren’t you?”

"They _will_ come back for me. They will." If Castiel said it enough it might make it true. "I was using a false name because I didn't know my name. I'm better now... I think." The last words were barely a whisper, head pressing against the wall as much as he could to get away from Lucifer.

“If you’re better, why are you here, with me?” Fingers that now walked up over his arm, to his cheek, to pinch at it. “Look at you. So terrified. So shocked and disgusted. Castiel… you _wanted_ to be the new me. Or was it just you wanted to fuck my replacement, instead?”

Cas closed his eyes, jerking away - or trying to - from the fingers at his cheek. "I just... I just wanted to right the wrongs... I... don't bring Crowley into this. That is none of your concern."

Both of the Devil’s hands on Castiel’s face, squishing his cheeks, making him pout whether he wanted to or not. “I didn’t bring him into this. _He_ brought _you_. Isn’t that how it went? He batted his pretty little eyes at you, and waved his pretty little ass, and you bent him right over and showed him the Love of God Almighty? But… where is he, now?”

Lucifer stepped back, and looked around the empty room. (Not empty. The Winchesters were snapping their fingers in front of his face, and arguing.) “I don’t see him here with flowers and grapes and a ‘Get Well Soon From The Devil’ card.” He looked back. “Maybe he doesn’t care, after all.” A smirk. “Maybe he’s dead.”

Dead. No. Lying on the floor, lifeless, still. He couldn’t hear a heartbeat, he couldn’t hear anything from the demon. That was the last thing the Leviathan had let him see before he blacked out. “He’s not - he can’t be. He doesn’t even know I’m here, Lucifer. Stop.”

“Doesn’t he? All those demons out front? The one at your human house? Don’t you think if he was still in charge downstairs… don’t you think he’d _know_ it was you? Stands to reason… either he’s gone, or he doesn’t care. Well. You were gone for a while. Maybe he and that she-demon… you know the one with the legs?”

Lucifer made a kissy face, and then bounced back onto the bed. “You had to know it couldn’t last. Angel and a demon? How could that be a thing?”

_No_. Cecily and… no. Crowley had said it was a ridiculous idea… but… then why hadn’t Crowley found Castiel yet? Had he really moved on so quickly to Cecily? He couldn’t have. 

...had Crowley given up Cas?

The seraph breathed a sigh of relief when Lucifer moved back to the bed, relaxing against the wall. This had been incredibly draining. “Crowley and I are different. I’m sure there’s a reason. He’ll come for me.” _I hope_... if he’s not… 

"Why don't we count the seconds that he doesn't? One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand..." Lucifer counted on and on, drumming his feet on the bed. Over and over and over.

Castiel darted across the room. He had to get out of here. He had to try. But the door was locked, and despite his best efforts to open it - it wouldn’t budge. Where was his angelic strength? Why couldn’t he open this ridiculous human door? He glanced at Lucifer from the corner of his eye. This had to be _his_ doing.

“Please let me out.”

"Twenty-nine one thousand... What was that?" he cupped his hand around his ear. "You interrupted my count. How can this be rigorously scientific if you keep interrupting me?"

The archangel tutted in disgust. "You're not going anywhere, little brother. The Winchesters seem to have decided to put you down. Like a work horse that bit the master. That's you, isn't it? Rebellious beast of burden. You tried to do something even Satan didn't. You. Played. GOD."

Perhaps if he ignored Lucifer, he would go away? It was worth a shot, anyway. Another tug on the door that wouldn't budge. It was characteristic of the Winchesters to use Cas and then shoo him away without so much as a _Thanks, Cas_.

"I was trying to make things right, Lucifer. I was trying to make things _better_ ,” the seraph hissed. His intentions **were** good: save the world, punish the hypocrites, make humanity see the error of their sinful ways…

Lucifer grabbed his ankles, pushing his soles together and tugging his feet towards his ass.

"So all those deaths? They were because it was the right thing to do? Not because you wanted attention? Not because you... _like_ the sound of screaming? You don't like... " and he started to shriek in abject terror, never stopping to breathe. It was horrific, the kind of sound you never manage to forget.

Cas slammed his hands over his ears, but it did nothing to block out the sound. It echoed deep within his ears, it reverberated around the inside of his ribcage like a ball that was bounced and never stopped. It was horrible, and Cas turned, back to the door, and sank low. His knees bent as he slid to sit on the floor, curling up into a protective ball. _Go away, go away, go away_. But Satan did not listen. Why would he? 

The screeching turned into insane howling, the howling into whooping, the whooping into laughing. On and on it went, the noise gradually giving way to singing. Cas couldn’t place the song, but as this was - was it? - inside his head, he must have heard it somewhere.

Had to be in his head.

Lucifer was in the Cage.

“Am I, little brother? After all… _you_ brought Sam out. You left his soul… who’s to say you didn’t bring something else out, instead? Or leave a crack, a crack, a crack in the pavement, step on the break your back…”

“No…”

He pressed the vessel’s eyes so tightly closed that lights danced over the black-red darkness. Teeth that bit into his lip, needing the grounding feel of the pain. “No…”

“Oh, _Castiel_.... you’re going to be **so much fun**.”

Castiel remembered those words on his own lips, and for a moment he thought he’d spoken them himself, but when he looked up?

Lucifer was flickering, and when he faded out of sight… it was his own face he saw. His own face, streaked with black and manic with glee.

_That was even worse._

***

Cecily had hacked into the database of the mental institution and the security feed easily, scouring records. Every last one of her demons she had placed there had been obliterated by something. Exactly _what_ she couldn’t tell - the cameras had all gone to static before it had happened. 

She did find out, however, that Sam Winchester had made some kind of miraculous recovery (no surprise there, of course) and that he had left. But there was a new patient with the name of ‘Clarence’ that was in Sam’s room.

Clarence never left the room and his diagnosis was the same as Sam’s. 

_Interesting_.

She also saw that Meg - that insufferable Lucifer loyalist - was busy keeping watch. A little more digging and…

_Castiel_.

Cecily squealed with delight. She had found him, she had found Castiel! But… Castiel didn’t move from the bed. He didn’t talk. He didn’t do anything but lie there, comatose.

Her heart sank. She could _not_ present Castiel to Crowley like this. There was no way. She had seen him destroyed and for him to find out Cas was alive and… well… like **this**? No. She wasn’t sure Crowley could recover from that. 

So she waited and she watched him. She wasn’t sure how you could heal an angel, but she looked into that, too. Surely there had to be something you could do?


	44. Chapter 44

People came and people went. Castiel was oblivious. Doctors came to look at charts, to shine lights into his eyes, to speak lowly and firmly to him, but he did not respond. His vessel’s heart continued to beat, his lungs to breathe. He was cared for by the same supervising orderly - who insisted that she was okay with feeding him, and that he did eat, for all he was non-responsive. They did not understand why he would swallow, but not flinch away from pain. They did not know, but he continued to exist, and so it must be true.

Castiel did not react when they discussed his prognosis in earshot. He did not blink when they lifted him up to change his bedding, to change his clothes. He did not need it, but it was one deception too far for his demonic guardian. 

Meg sighed as the other staff left, and lowered herself into the chair to watch him.

“Liked you better when you was talkative,” she said, with a sad little smirk. “Even if you were all holier-than-thou.”

“I can’t believe you and her…” Dean said, tilting his head towards the demon.

Castiel did not respond.

“I mean. You _were_ \- you know - _with him_ , right? Or was that later?”

Castiel bit at his lip in frustration. He was sure, now, that none of this was real… or at least that he would never be able to tell what was. No matter how loud he screamed, no sound came out. No matter how hard he tried to get their attention, no one - not even Meg - seemed to respond to his communication attempts. It was soul-destroying. It was maddening. And Cas knew - on some level - that this was what Sam had undergone… insanity. 

“I was,” he said, when Dean did not seem to give up waiting for a response.

The Hunter was sitting on the windowsill, arms folded across his chest, brow knit in confusion. 

“So… what? You like to play the field, is that it? You thought it was fine to fool around? Was it because they were demons, or was that just a coincidence? Cause from where I’m sitting, seems you got a type.”

“She… was a mistake,” Cas admitted, wearily. “A terrible mistake.”

“And the King of Hell wasn’t? C’mon, Cas. What the Hell were you thinking?”

Meg sat, oblivious to the internal conversation going on a few feet away, leafing through a magazine.

“I have told you, and I have told you, and I could tell you again, but you would not understand, Dean.”

“You’re right. I won’t. How could I? How could you and that skeezeball make sense? You know… the souls bit? Okay. I can kinda see why you might want that. You iced Raphael, after all. And then you went all whackjob on us… but _Crowley_?”

The seraph lowered his eyes, staring at his toes. The starchy white sheet that covered him was almost like a mortuary blanket. Death no longer scared him, as once it had. Three times, now. Three times and every time he was brought back. Death - true death - might actually be a relief, if it ever came. 

Cas thought the Dean-hallucinations were worse than Lucifer. At least Lucifer he expected to hate him, to plague him, to torture and torment. The screaming, the laughing, the singing… those had been horrible, but somehow? This quiet, rational voice of Dean’s - so filled with judgement and disappointment - was a thousand times worse.

“You lied to us. To me, Cas. You lied to me.”

“You have also concealed things from me.”

“Yeah, well. We had a reason to. If we told you stuff, you’d’ve just gone and told Crowley. He tried to kill us, you know.”

“I am aware.”

“To _kill us_ , Cas.”

“You also tried to kill him.”

“Yeah, cause he’s the King of freaking **Hell** , Cas. You know that.”

“He… we… we had a good goal.”

“No. You maybes did. Crowley? Not so much. And even then… you really think ripping the heads off people in front of kids was a good plan? Or exploding priests in front of their congregation? Or…”

Cas closed his eyes tight, fighting the rising, tightening knot in his gut. “I was…”

“What, Cas? Not in control? Not yourself? Or did those souls just show what you were, deep down, under it all? I mean… why else would you go all dark-side in the first place?”

“I was-- it was not--”

Was it? Was it him, underneath it all? He had committed what could only be described as atrocities in ‘God’s’ name, and although he could claim it was the Leviathans, or the damned souls inside of him… was it, wholly? Would Leviathans choose to direct their wrath only to the sinners? Or was it, underneath it all, what the angel had wanted?

Not to mention his actions _before_ they opened Purgatory: lying, breaking Sam’s wall, torturing ‘monsters’... they had been more of those necessary evils he had tried not to let touch his conscience, but still… 

“Yeah, man. What you did to me…”

Dean was gone, and Sam was there in his place. Cas hadn’t even noticed the transition. He simply thought about the younger brother, and then when he looked up… there he was. 

“I am sorry, Sam. I truly am.”

“You _know_ what you subjected me to. You knew before you did it. I know you didn’t want me to get my soul back in the first place, but then I did? And you destroyed it?”

“I always intended to fix you, but you both resisted me, and I--”

“And then you just… gave up on me. Left me crazy. Left me with the Devil in my head.”

Cas’ hands clenched into tight fists. “I am sorry.”

He could never say sorry enough. It had been wrong. He knew, now. He knew that his judgement had been impaired. What he had done to Sam had been horrific beyond compare, and beyond excuse. But worst of all, he had left the damage in place out of nothing more than simple spite. Had they been right to try to stop him opening Purgatory? He didn’t think so. The plan itself was sound. Of course… the _Leviathans_ were a mistake. He should have used the power to defeat Raphael, but then he should have given them up. 

Hindsight was a wonderful, pointless tool. Regret did nothing but make him feel bad.

“We tried to stop you.” It was Dean again. Somehow things sounded worse from him. Maybe because Dean had always thought more highly of him… before he’d started working with Crowley.

“I know.”

“You threatened us, and we still had your back.”

“I… I had to… I…”

“Really, Cas? You couldn’t have done it with us?”

“I needed Crowley.”

“Needed?”

“He… has knowledge and skills.”

“So this wasn’t at all about your boner for bad guys?”

“It is… it is not… Dean, that is not…”

“You forget what he does for a living? You know, when he’s not tricking angels into bending over for him?”

Cas’ brow furrowed. He wanted to point out it was usually the other way around, but he didn’t think dream-Dean would take kindly to that level of sharing.

“Well? What he does? Is buy souls. And then he takes those souls? And he twists them. He pulls them to pieces. He _tortures_ them, Cas. Now, sure, most of them deserve it. They’re selfish S.O.B.s. But some of them? Are just there because they needed something real bad and one of his demons offered it to them.”

Like you, Cas thought. You made a deal. You went to Hell. You were the Righteous Man.

“Yeah, like me,” Dean said, echoing his thoughts. Of course: he was not real. “You remember what Hell was like, when you came in for me?”

I do, Cas thought, ashamed to say it aloud. The smell of scorched flesh, the tang of sweat and blood on the air, the sound of screaming that resonated through the viscera-slick walls of the pit. He had blazed in, full of purpose and divine fury. He had been disgusted to his very Grace by what he saw.

And then - a few years later - a lick of paint, an infernal, eternal queuing system and a King with a twinkle in his eyes and he’d… called it… _home_.

“Not to mention, what **did** he sell his soul for, you think? You reckon it really was three inches more? Well. I guess you saw what a size queen he is now, so you’re better placed to answer that.”

“The bones he led you to… they were a fabrication. A lie.”

“Yeah, kinda figured that. Not like him to actually put himself in harm’s way, huh?”

“Do you blame him?”

“Not the point.”

“He gave Bobby’s soul back.”

Dean seemed to consider this for a moment, then he nodded. “Long game, isn’t that what they say? When you plot the chess game ahead, or some shit?”

Dean talking about chess - even fake Dean - was enough to elicit the slightest of smiles. “Yes. But he did it because I asked him to. He also… stopped trying to kill you, in the end. When I… insisted. Although I know he very much wanted to.”

“Dude, you do realise ‘eventually he said he wouldn’t kill you’ is not the most attractive way to describe someone? Is that honestly the best you have to say in his defence?”

Cas shook his head, and turned on the cot, facing away from the accusing stare. That was no better, because there was Meg. Meg who he’d kissed, once, to see if it felt the same. Meg who had convinced him that it _wasn’t_ , that what he’d had with Crowley…

Had. Past tense. He curled up, slightly, at the realisation of what he’d thought. 

It was… right, wasn’t it? To use that? They had never officially ended their relationship, but how long had he been gone? It must be nine months, by now, surely? He’d been off obliviously pouring cups of coffee at fundraisers, or using his divine Grace to heal the sick and the faithful, when he should have been with Crowley. But what would he have done, had he met him as Emmanuel? He stared up at Meg’s face, seeing the demon overlaid across the stolen body’s features. He would have drawn back in revulsion, most likely. He would not have understood.

He wanted to go to him, now, but he knew he was trapped here. Even if Meg were to let him loose, he knew… he knew he could not move. And if he did, if he found him…? If he was somewhere to be found?

Cas’ fingers clutched at the horrible, stiff fabric. It felt like a shroud, now, more so than ever. 

He missed his demon. No matter what Dean said… he missed him. He wasn’t… he wasn’t as bad as they thought. He wasn’t sure how he could explain that, but… 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

“Yeah. Well. I don’t think you are. I think you’d do most of it all over again. I think… I think you’re not the angel I once thought you were.”

Cas had to agree, as a tear pricked past his lashes, and rolled down his cheek. He had never truly cried before, but now? Alone, with only the angry voices inside his head that hated him? Without the comforting arms of his demon… Cas wept.

***

“Sorry to keep you waiting, boss. That was the human boss that came in,” the voice on the other end of Cecily’s phone said. 

“No worries, hun. Now, Edith, tell me how the placements are going.” Cecily turned the speaker phone volume up just a hair and leaned back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap.

“Well, we’ve got Sasha in Niveus Pharmaceuticals and he is doing very well, although he’s only been in for a week. We also have two in the marketing department of Sucro Corp: Xixi and Sophie. Word on the street is his people have been talking to their people and a merger or a buyout is on the cards. So they’ve been feeding info on upcoming plans and where the company is headed, which, to be honest - I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… they’ve engineered this new process, but it seems to have a lot of side effects and based on my research, it would not have been cleared by the FDA for human consumption. Clearly, Dick’s got an inside man there, too.” 

“We need one there then… but not until you figure out where the dick is, ‘kay? What else you got me? How’s that hacker doing?”

“Charlie? Oh, she’s good. Really good… but…”

“Edith…”

“Well it’s just… there was a minor incident and the Winchesters ended up being involved.” Cecily could practically _hear_ the demon on the other end cringing, waiting for the anger to rise up… maybe even to smoke through the phone.

“Oh, no, sweetie, that was totes the plan. Don’t worry ‘bout them. I got it covered.” Cecily reassured Edith it was, in fact the plan although it really wasn’t. It was a stroke of good luck, though. “What about in the Niveus lab? Do we have anyone controlling experiments or whatevs?”

“I’ve got El on stand by, and it looks like they just got a new doctor in so perfect timing. Shall I give the order?”

“Def, yes, and have him report to you as soon as he’s done with his first shift there. See what exactly it is they’re pushing past the FDA. And also email me everything you have on Charlie. Everything she’s looking at, all the audio you’ve got on her, _everything_. I also need the video and all that jazz from the Winchesters’ involvement.”

“Yes, ma’am. Gimme ten minutes. I’ll talk to you later, Cec.” 

“Later, chica.” Cecily chewed on her bottom lip, still leaning back in her chair. Hopefully this would be the break they needed. If not… back to square one _again_.


	45. Chapter 45

One day, it wasn’t Lucifer. It wasn’t the Leviathan. It wasn’t even Sam, or Dean. It wasn’t Meg who smirked at him like she knew the great mysteries of the universe, that they were all somehow hilarious and that he was a risible object. When Castiel looked to the window - the sole link to the outside world he had - seeing only a snatch of blue dusted with slightly off-white clouds, occasionally broken by the shadow of wings… it was the one person he wanted most and least, all at once.

It was Crowley, who stood and watched him back. Cas closed his eyes as hard as he could - until bright lights like supernovas danced behind his lids - hoping beyond hope that he could somehow never open his eyes again, in case he saw on the demon’s face… the thing he could not see. Not again. 

_Disappointment, betrayal, displeasure… anger._

“Angel.” The demon finally spoke, tearing his eyes from the seraph’s long enough to look around the room, before looking back. Cas knew without seeing what was going on. “Not a very welcoming feel, is it? It’s very plain… clinical. I much prefer our room, don’t you?”

Cas winced. _Our_ room. The one in Hell he’d come to consider home. It had been, by the end. It had been the place he returned to, to feel safe and loved. It had been a long time since he’d been, though. He wondered if it still even existed?

“I apologise for the lack of hospitality,” he tried, when it was clear that the demon was going nowhere, and wasn’t going to do him the courtesy of remaining silent. He opened his eyes and… looked.

“There’s those blue eyes.” Crowley grinned, walking closer to Castiel. “Tell me something, kitten. Why did you stay with Sam and Dean instead of coming to look for me? Perhaps I was confused to think that after _months_ of being separated from **me** , you would be the slightest bit concerned? Instead you’re off galavanting around with Rocky and Bullwinkle and now you’ve got yourself trapped in here… if only you would’ve come looking for me…”

The demon sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed, turning his head towards the angel. “But you probably just wanted to keep _us_ hidden from the world again. Like a dirty little secret… your King - but only in the privacy of our own home.”

Said blue eyes were immediately averted, the angel’s cheeks going pink with deep shame. Whether this Crowley was real or not - and he had no way to know for sure, did he? - his words stung. They stung because they had a ring of truth to them, of course. And that was why he couldn’t be sure if it was real or not. Crowley _always_ managed to get under his skin, in ways even Dean could not. It was probably why his mind had saved the worst tormentor of all until now. **Lucifer** would be preferable.

“I wanted to,” he said, which was half-true, half-not. “But I had done Sam a grave injustice, Crowley, and I needed to right that wrong. I did not… I did not intend for… this.” 

And if, he thought, if I had seen you first, if you had been there to welcome me into your embrace… I might have gone to you, and stayed with you, and left Sam here to suffer. It was easier to give up what you didn’t have, than what you did. “I am sorry,” he said, instead.

“Sorry?” he scoffed. “Sorry like you were all those times you vanished without so much as a simple goodbye? Sorry like when you pretended to be God and slammed me down on the table or the bed or wherever _you_ wanted, _whenever_ you wanted? Sorry like when you told me to get out and leave you to be destroyed by that dick? Shall I go on?”

Every thing he said was true. Every accusation he lodged against him was accurate. He had done all those things. He had used the demon for his own pleasure and then run away from the aftermath like a coward, unwilling to have the conversations that should have followed. Leaving it all as a heat of the moment thing, and ducking the responsibility he should have assumed. 

Flashes of sense-memory, of the heady rush of _need_ that had flooded his system… the adrenaline and testosterone highs, the way his heart had hammered and the blood had sung through his veins as he’d taken pleasure after pleasure… the times he’d insisted that Crowley simply _accept_ his advances… He had been willing, hadn’t he? He’d never thought he hadn’t, not at the time… but now he realised he’d never actually asked, he’d always just assumed that because Crowley had been so ready to initiate sexual liaisons for the sole purpose of a deal, that he… that he would want… 

Hands scratched at the bedding, and his gaze lifted, filled with sorrow and remorse. “I used you.” It was clear, now. He had used him. Sure, he might have given physical release in return, but the fact remained… _he had been selfish_. He wanted to say ‘sorry’ again, but what good would it do?

Crowley raised his eyebrows, nodding. “Little bit, yeah… you did, Cas. But look where it’s got you, eh? A roof and a bed. Bet they feed you, too. Not that you need it… and not that it’s any good. Surely they don’t offer you chocolate chip cookies or bedtime stories like I did…”

This was not home. This was a prison cell, and there were no two ways about it. He was trapped here, with a demon on his shoulder, and another at the door. Even if he _could_ move, how would he ever know he was free? Surely it could all just be yet another narrative dreamt up by his mind? All the better to give him hope and dash it to pieces. After all, you had to have something to lose in order to be hurt. And Castiel? Castiel had _lost_. He’d lost something so utterly precious that he cried out in pain at the memory brought fore-and-centre. 

He remembered those nights, of course. The spaces between their rabid, lust-drunk couplings. Times when they had been peaceful, and they had forgotten to be the King of Hell and his angel, or the Devil and the God. Times when - to all external spectators - they would have seemed simply two creatures in love. Feet in his lap, a head on his shoulder, little kisses with no blaze of heat, but instead that kindling warmth… hands that always found one another, before long. Fingers in his hair, in his wings. No one had ever touched him like Crowley had, and he did not mean simply sex alone. No one had ever touched him as if they loved him, save for Crowley.

“You are right,” he said, forcing the words past a choking throat. “It is not the same. I would rather be with you. I… would _always_ rather be with you.” My King. “But that is no longer possible.”

The demon gave a dry chuckle. “Of course. Of course it’s not, Cas. It’s not an option because you’re ashamed of me, aren’t you? Is that it? Because of the whole _demon_ thing, I’m sure. ‘Oh, let’s not tell Winchesters Crowley came by for a visit’ - that is, of course, assuming those two short-sighted prats care enough to bother with another visit to check up on you. Naturally, they’ll only make time for Castiel if they need something. Unlike myself, who is here out of legitimate concern for you. I don’t mind screaming from the highest mountains that I’m in love with an angel. And - friendly reminder - angels aren’t _exactly_ the cute and cuddly creatures humanity makes them out to be. If either of us should be ashamed of anything, it should be me.”

Crowley stood, pacing by the bed. “A demon who fell for an angel. Not just any angel, but one who rebelled, staged a massive coup in Heaven, killed _how many_ of his brothers and sisters all in the name of-- what was that?” He cupped a hand to his ear. “Freedom? And choice? Two things angels never had any business having in the first place.”

A brief flare of anger burned in his chest, and Cas glared at him, wanting to tell him to shut the Hell up. Wanting to rise up and slam him face-first into a wall. To bend him over things, to show him who was… His hands were tight, his knuckles showing through his fists, his rage simmering but forced down. _No_. Not again.

“That is not fair,” he grit out, past clenched teeth. “None of that is fair. I was ashamed to begin with, Crowley, but… I always loved you. I was… I was _protecting us_. I was trying to keep us safe. Do you think, if the Host had known, that they would hesitate to hunt you down and slaughter you for touching me? Do you think anyone would have followed me, if they knew? Do you think I could ever explain how - how I **loved** you, and be understood… by anyone? Perhaps angels were not meant for freedom. Perhaps we all Fall as Lucifer did. But if he did not Fall, you would not exist. And had I not Fallen too, there would be no world left standing.”

No. The other angels were… he had learned they were simply not as good at freedom as he was, but then… how could he count himself as a success, either? But he still felt that the decision had been right. It had been the best of a bad lot. And Crowley?

He regretted hurting him. Oh, he definitely did. But he had loved him, by the end. He had grown to love him truly. It was the world which refused to understand. 

Crowley shook his head. “If you loved me so much, why did you beg me to leave you at the hands of that _monster_? Why did you think that was the best option. I told you then and I’ll tell you now: we’re better together, Cas. We’re _better_ together.” He paused for a moment, amber eyes searching bright blue ones. “So why didn’t you seek me out? Why was the Moose more important than **me**? Grave injustice or _not_ , they are humans, **mortal** and their lives are merely a blink in our own. I needed you, Castiel. I needed you and you went to the Winchesters.”

“The Leviathan was… he was too strong. I could not… I knew I could not…” He bit the inside of his mouth, needing the sudden, sharp sting to ground him. Needing to _hurt_. “I could not let him destroy you. Please, Crowley… I _do_ love you. I have never loved another, and I do not think I ever could. It is only you, but I…” 

He turned his face away, staring at the blank, ‘calming’ wall instead of those eyes he loved so very, very much. Eyes he had dreamt of, even as a human (or, a passing-human). A voice he’d heard in things that were not quite dreams, just truths he could not forget. “I wronged him, Crowley. I dragged him from the Cage in my… in my _pride_ , my hubris. It was all my fault. I pulled him out, and then when he… when he was… when Death had almost fixed him, I…” He looked back, begging him to understand with his eyes. “He is a mortal, but his soul is immortal. You - you… could survive without me. You could have a life, thinking I was dead. But Sam… Sam was in pain, Crowley. How could I walk away? Like I walked away from you?”

"You call what I've been doing _surviving_? Is that what you think? Castiel, I'm merely _existing_. A life without you is not a life for me - it's not an option. But if we're ever going to work, you can't keep me tucked in your back pocket, hidden from sight. You can't just vanish when things get uncomfortable. Sometimes the hard topics need to be discussed, and you can't always get what you want. It's give and take, Cas. A two way street."

More truths he didn’t want to hear. More… things that hurt his ears and heart. It had not been a true relationship, not really. He’d taken, and taken, and taken. And he’d kept the King hidden away like a bad habit. But how could they be different? Even if he did manage - somehow - to escape this Hell on Earth, how could they? A demon, and an angel…

Even now. Even now, knowing he loved him, he was still afraid? Of what? What could be worse? He’d slaughtered his brethren, he’d played the bloody, vengeful God, he’d tortured, lied, cheated and even stolen. Every sin, he’d committed. So what was he so terrified of?

He knew that Sam and Dean would never understand. Even if he were to tell them it had been Crowley who tried to get him to step down… even if he told them how the demon had risked his own life to save him? They would look at him and all they would see would be his ‘true’ face. Cas could _actually_ see it, and he could see they were wrong to judge him so. But he was too faithless, too… _proud_... 

“I wish it was all as simple as you seem to think.” I love you. “But the odds seem, sadly, against us.”

"So what then? You're just gonna give up? Throw in the towel? Do you honestly see that as your only option, Cas? Do you not recall that fighting for what you want is an option? Are you that daft? I honestly expected more from you, angel. Clearly I was wrong. Guess you just don't have what it takes... no wonder you're locked up in here."

Stung, Castiel frowned over at the demon. “I…”

He couldn’t say it. Crowley was simply a voice inside of his head, a voice he’d been able to confess almost anything to, except his feelings… and he couldn’t say it. Stung, Castiel frowned over at the demon. “I…”

"You what? Don't you think we've danced around truths long enough? If you've got something to say, angel, say it."

Yes. Yes, we have. “I don’t… know… how.” He looked over to the demon, pleading with him for answers. “I don’t know how to fix what I did wrong. I don’t know how to… _leave_.”

"Don't you, though? You're quite the expert at vanishing..."

Crowley moved closer to the angel - too close - and bent down so that his eyes were level with the angel's.

"Cas... you know I love you, angel. And you know, somewhere, deep down, that you can fix anything... once you decide it's worth fixing, that is. But you can't do it from in here, like this. So you need to decide: are you worth fixing? You know what I'll say," the demon smiled, almost pressing their lips together before he was gone.

Cas growled in frustration. It was only a dream, a memory of his love, but still… to be so close, and then denied? It hurt. It hurt… a lot. He wasn’t sure he was there, yet. He wasn’t sure he was quite as ready as Crowley needed him to be. He still felt bad. He still felt… guilt. But Crowley… _his love_... 

He **wanted** to be ready. He wanted it, so very badly, but he still couldn’t quite work out how he could make it work. Any of it. All of it. He wanted his King, and he wanted his Hunters, and he wanted the two not to be trying to kill one another. He wanted forgiveness from all of them, and he wanted… to be happy. But he wanted to be sad, too. Because he deserved it.

There was something in the air. Some… sharpness, like the sky was thick and ready to break into a temper-tantrum. _Power_. It crackled like electricity. It was old. **Old**. It was as old as the Leviathans that had run riot in his head, and Cas knew, somehow, that it was a call to arms that only an angel could understand.

He was not ready to be fixed, but the call was insistent and it would not be ignored. He echoed with it, all the way to his core. He fought as hard as he could, because he didn’t - no - couldn’t live in a world where he couldn’t reconcile his _friends_ and his **love**. He didn’t want to go back to that. Not to the Heaven he had decimated, not to the broken wreckage of his battlefield. Not to the disappointed faces of the few still standing

Fighting the heavy weight of the damage that still gouged deep lines through his Grace, that burned with agony when he moved, the seraph was dragged upwards. The room was as he remembered it being, but there was Meg. He looked at her expression of surprise, and waited for the inevitable verbal abuse.

It was too soon, but he had no choice, no way to resist.

“Clarence. Good to see you.”

“Something has happened. Something… big.”

“Y’know, I kinda got that impression myself,” Meg drawled, folding the magazine away and rising to her feet. “C’mon, angel-face. I know two people who are just _dying_ to see you again.”

Oh, he knew. But they weren’t who he needed most right now. But if Meg suspected he wanted Crowley, it would rapidly turn… unpleasant. So for now, he simply nodded. And then there was the issue of wanting to see him, but not having the slightest idea what to say, when and if he did.

“Yes. Please call them.”

***

Cecily and Scotius were having a late dinner when the weather went berserk and lightning filled the sky. Scotius turned on the news while the other demon made a phone call to the one person who might know what was going on - aside from the Winchesters, of course.

“Lilie, we just turned on the news - there’s power outages out the wazoo, and have you _seen_ this lightning?”

“I’m tellin’ ya, Cec, this is something **big** and **old**. I managed to pinpoint the origin and I’m sending you the coordinates now. Since you’ve had me monitoring all these signs, I haven’t seen _anything_ even remotely close to this magnitude. This is happening all across the entire country!”

Cecily’s phone was continuously beeping in her ear as she talked to Lilie. Alert after alert for the weather updates about the freak storm that was covering the continental United States. The most powerful surge came from Neighbor, Michigan according to the data Lilie gathered. She got off the phone with Lilie and immediately called up her demons in Michigan to investigate. 

The surge was strongest around the Tran residence. The demon who peeked in the house found nothing but a young boy passed out on the floor - no doubt due to the textbooks scattered around. The demon sensed nothing out of the ordinary and was ordered to disregard. Cecily put all her resources to work on Kevin and Linda Tran, finding out as much as they could about them - which was nothing interesting _at all_. Hours later and they still had nada.

If these two were so uninteresting, why the Hell did the biggest surge occur here? What had happened? Lilie had said it seemed old… old was not good. Old was Leviathan… and… oh shit. The angel!

Cecily checked on Castiel at once. How stupid and short-sighted she had been. Why hadn’t she checked there first? It was almost unbelievable, even though he had been showing the slightest hints of improvement… **this** was unexpected, for sure.

_Castiel was awake_.

Castiel was awake… and she **had** to tell Crowley. And she had to tell him now.


	46. Chapter 46

Castiel stood at the window, staring out. He could see the world beyond and the window at the strange time. He could see the sky, and the parking lot, and the people walking around, who vanished from sight between the streetlamps only to reappear from the darkness a little further along, when they hit the next halo of light. The window was not perfect. It seemed it, to humans, but he knew otherwise. He knew that the glass was not a solid, fixed point. No - it was a super-chilled liquid, slowly sliding down, growing ever fatter at the bottom as the centuries passed. He could see the molecules gliding down, could see how they danced around one another, like the raindrops on the outside. It was beautiful. It was all beautiful. He smiled to himself, watching his reflection on the melting surface of the glass.

He could hear them. He had seen the Impala through the window, and he knew they were here. He could hear them approaching the demon, to talk to her. It had been a long time since he saw them last, and it made butterflies dance in his stomach. Not literal butterflies. Butterflies would be dissolved by the gastric juices, and they would also struggle to fit down a human vessel gullet. It was just a metaphor. It was poetry, nothing more. Cas liked poetry.

Dean and Sam snuck in through the back entrance of the mental hospital, avoiding orderlies and nurses at every turn. They were finally here. Cas was finally awake. 

Suddenly, Dean wasn’t so sure he wanted to be here. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see that look on Castiel’s face again. The accusing one… the one that said the angel _knew_ Dean was only motivated by his own selfishness. The one that knew Dean would ask Castiel to destroy himself again if it meant saving Sammy. 

The oldest Winchester glanced at his brother. “We raced all the way here, and now I don't know. I can't say I'm fired up to see what's left of the guy.”

“You think he remembers at all?”

Leave it to Sam to speak Dean’s worst fears aloud. “That, and I'm guessing whatever kind of _Hell baggage_ he lifted off of your plate… it's not gonna be pretty.”

The two men were stopped by an orderly who did not look very pleased to see them. “Hey. Excuse me, gentlemen, but it's **way** past visiting hours.”

Dean was happier than he expected to be to see Meg come around the corner, her words calm and drawn out a bit. “It's okay, Abel. I've been expecting them. Hello, boys.”

Meg nodded and led the Winchesters down the hallway she came from. Dean was beyond nervous. This was worse than any monster, any demon, anything… this was… 

He looked at Cas, standing at the window with his back to them. He wondered if the angel was thinking about all the wrongs Dean had been responsible for. How he was damaged and how it was Dean’s fault… no… it wasn’t Dean’s fault. It was Castiel’s fault, obviously. So why did Dean feel so guilty?

“Hey, Cas.” The older Hunter held his breath for a moment as he waited to see how the angel would react to his presence.

Here they were. They came back. They did not need to come back, but they did. Sam. And Dean. Sam and Dean. SamandDean. Inseparable as ever. Always Sam and Dean, not Dean and Sam. No real reason for that, though. No reason but convention. He turned and smiled at them, letting his gratitude for their presence show.

“Hello, Dean. Sam.” Wrong way round. Wrong way. Words fine when there was no ‘and’. 

“Hey, Castiel,” Sam said, peering at him, trying not to stare.

“Look at you… walkin' and talkin'. That's-- that's great, right?” Dean forced a smile. _Yes. It’s great_. It was great because Castiel wasn’t trying to smite him. It was great because he was no longer lying comatose in a mental ward. Great because if he was walking and talking, that meant he could be of assistance. And Castiel owed them. For something or another… Dean was sure of it… at least that’s what he kept saying to himself.

The seraph paced closer to Dean, watching him intently. “Pull my finger,” he asked, with absolute, perfect sincerity. He held a finger out, so that Dean could do as he asked.

Dean looked down at the offered finger and back up to Cas’ face. So many questions, the first of which he managed to blurt out. “What?”

“My finger--” he repeated, “pull it.”

Dean glanced at Sam, then Meg, giving Cas a small humouring smile before grasping the angel’s finger and pulling. There was a loud crash as all the overhead lights exploded, glass shattering all over the floor. Dean looked up at the ceiling, his arm still extended.

That was funny. It was funny because normally it was a joke about flatulence. This was not flatulence, it was the Lord’s power. Like it had been when they met. Lights going. Opposite of fiat lux. Fiat nox. It was the look on Dean’s face. Cas laughed, because it was so funny.

Meg turned the lamp on and set the shade on top of it. It was the same lamp she had brought in the last time Cas pulled that stunt. She would’ve laughed except for the fact that it really was, in all honesty, kind of sad… pathetic even. Poor little Clarence.

Dean sighed. There was the guilt again. Not just a twinge of guilt - it was the overpowering, gut wrenching kind. The kind that hurt all the way into his soul… and then some. He shook it off as best he could. “Okay, just hang on, Cas. Wait. Let us catch up to you for a second.”

“So, you're saying you remember who you are, what you are,” Sam prompted. Maybe Cas needed some… nuding, some guiding?

“Yes. Of course.” Memories of Castiel the angel, Castiel the seraph, Castiel the God. “Oh. Outside today, in the garden, I followed a honeybee. I saw the route of flowers. It's all right there: the whole plan. There's nothing to add.” 

He remembered before he met them. When he was just an angel, following the Lord’s will. Doing as he was supposed to. Being the good little worker bee, dancing back and forth. Bees were supposed to be too heavy to fly, but God said that they should, and so they did.

“...you might want to add a little Thorazine.” Sam was frowning at him, confused by the suddenly fleeting focus, the inability to stay on topic.

“Right? He's been like the naked guy at the rave ever since he woke up… totally useless.” Meg glanced back at the broken angel. He was amusing like this… useless… but amusing nonetheless. Once she’d learned how to properly handle him, they’d gotten along surprisingly well.

There was a demon fighting his corner again. Two of them. A King and a renegade. He’d been a renegade. He knew he had been the underdog, the outsider, the wild card. Wild. “Will you look at her?” he mused, smiling. “My caretaker. All of that thorny pain. So beautiful.”

It was more her smoke, than her meatsuit. Castiel found form pleasant in many ways: he liked the symmetry, the asymmetry. He liked when one eye was slightly higher than the other, or when hair curled the wrong way. She was warped, strange, twisted. She had held such purpose, before, such a burning urge to yield to a greater power like an angel to God. Now he knew she was different - challenged - she hated Crowley. It was no secret, though she might not say it in front of him. She hated Crowley and he could not hate her for doing it. 

Her hatred meant that the King was still alive. He felt pity for her, for her hatred and her anger and her fear that welled up inside of her. All of God’s creatures had a beauty to them, even her.

“We've been over this. I don't like poetry. Put up or shut up.” Meg tried to stop herself from smiling. Even if, deep down, she knew it wasn’t so much _her_ he was thinking of when he looked past her meatsuit to see her smoke swirling inside, the compliments and the kind words he showered her with were still nice. It was nice to think that maybe… just maybe he could mean them about her.

“Okay.” Sam didn’t particularly like to hear Castiel waxing poetic over yet another demon. “So, Cas, you said you woke up last night?”

“Yes. I heard a ping that pierced me, and, well, you wouldn't have heard it unless you were an angel at the time.”

A ping. A ring. In his head. A call, like a clarion. Reveille. It was like it was hard-wired inside his Grace.

Sam hefted the bag with the tablet, and passed it over. “That's also when we opened this.”

“Oh. Of course. Now I understand.” The tablet. He could practically see Heaven on it. It looked like home.

“Understand what?”

“You were the ones,” Cas told Sam-and-Dean. “Well... I guess that makes sense.”

“What makes sense?” Dean asked.

“If someone was going to free the Word from the vault of the Earth, it would end up being you two. Oh, I love you guys.” The angel walked closer, draping an arm around each of them, pulling them in to hug, squeezing them. The Word. He had not thought he would ever live to see it. But then, he had not thought he would live to see the other side of the Apocalypse, either. 

The hug took Dean by surprise. This was not something the old Castiel would’ve ever done. “Oh. Uck… okay. Alright. Okay.” _Please let this be over with soon_ Dean thought to himself, patting a hand on Cas’ back hesitantly.

Sam echoed the gesture. It wasn’t so much that he had an issue with contact, it was more that it was… Cas. And Cas didn’t do the touching thing. It was weird. Everything about this was weird. “Yeah, yeah.” Time to try drag him back on point again. “You – you said something about ‘The Word.’ Is that what's written on there?”

It was what was written on the tablet, but Castiel did not want to talk about it. It was not the angel he wanted to be any more. It was not… _kitten_. “Did you know that a cat's penis is sharply barbed along its shaft? I know for a fact the females were not consulted about that.”

Congress was painful for real kittens. Cats. Felines. It was often unpleasant for the recipient. It made very little sense, really. How was that supposed to propagate the species? By force. By the penetrator taking the penetrated. Ducks were the same. Ducks were shaped like a corkscrew. Demons were not. Angels were not, but only because they took humans as vessels instead of kittens and ducks and snakes. Did Crowley call him ‘Kitten’ because it hurt?

Meg stood, arms folded across her chest as she watched the brothers come to terms with what she had been putting up with ever since last night. 

Dean looked at Sam and back at the angel, baffled.This was ridiculous. Why couldn’t Castiel focus? The world was once again in danger, the Winchesters at the ready to save it. The only problem was their secret weapon was busted. 

“Cas, please,” the older Hunter begged. “We're losing ground out there, okay? We need your help. Can you not see that?”

He could see it, he just didn’t want to. Once they found out enough, it would be bad. Bad. Very bad. “This is the handwriting of Metatron.”

Sam couldn’t believe that. Cas must really have lost it. “Metatron? You saying a Transformer wrote that?”

“No. That's Megatron,” Dean said quietly, turning towards Sam. 

“What?”

“The Transformer… it's Megatron.”

“What?” Sam repeated, as if asking again would make any of this crazy make sense.

“Metatron,” Castiel said, calmly. “He's an angel. He's the scribe of God. He took down dictation when creation was being formed.”

Such an important job. Peaceful, too. No pillars of salt. No locusts. No firstborn sons.

“And that's the Word of God?” Sam prompted.

The brothers would not rest, of course. He had known that, but somehow forgotten. That or wanted it to be so much so that he could believe it was true. “One of them, yes.”

“Uh... well, what's it say, then?”

“Uh... ‘Tree’?” He suggested, looking at the way the lines appeared to be a trunk with branches with leaves that could bear both fruit and flower, all the part of the reproductive cycle, all part of life. He looked over to the boys. “...‘Horse’? ‘Fiddler crab’?” It was as likely as anything else. As likely that it described String Theory. String. Silly string came in lots of colours. “I can't read it. It wasn't meant for angels.”

“Okay, this all sounds bad. What are you two jackasses doing with the Word of God? Let me see that thing.” Meg moved closer to Castiel, trying to get a look at whatever the Hell the Winchesters had dug up this time.

“Back off, Meg,” Dean spat.

“Come on, it's my ass, too.”

“Back. **Off**.”

“Damn it! Enough of this ‘demons are second-class citizens’ crap!” Who did the Winchesters think they were. They had worked for Crowley… _for Crowley_. They didn’t seem too hesitant with him. She had done nothing but help them out, sticking her neck for them again and again. Well… maybe not so much for _them_ as for Cas, but, even so… she’d been nothing but helpful lately.

Fighting. The demon was fighting with the brothers. They did not like one another. They did not… 

_I’ll tear their frigging hearts out!_

He could hear the King’s voice echoing in his skull, over and over and over. They hated one another. Demons and Hunters. Hunters hunted demons. Even demons who did nothing but help. Why couldn’t they get along? Why, if angels could work out how to co-exist, couldn’t humans?

“Don't like conflict.”

No, no, no. His hands opened, dropping the Word, the tablet that they were fighting over, and he blipped out.

_Like he had so many times before, on the Hunters, on the King._ Even then he’d been a coward. Even then as a soldier… he had run. It was safer, that way. It was the best thing to do. **Run**.

The tablet fell to the floor and shattered into three. Heaven. Hell. Humanity.

Well, that was a new one, Sam thought. “Uh…”

“The hell was that?” Dean barked at Meg. This is _your_ fault, you demon bitch, _your fault_!

Meg didn’t flinch. “You heard him. He doesn't like conflict. He's down in the dayroom now. I guarantee it.”

The dayroom where he had gone so many times over the last few hours prior to the arrival or Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. If she raised her voice in the slightest - _blip_ \- dayroom. She’d apologise, use phrases that the King of Hell might have to lure him back down and if she slipped up again? _Blip_. It’s why she had been keeping her tone more even than usual.

This was fucking ridiculous. Dean blinked slowly. “Alright, I'll go handle Cas. Sam, will you please pick up the… _Word of God_?” He didn’t exactly wait for an answer before he high-tailed it down to the dayroom to find the angel.


	47. Chapter 47

Castiel sat at the table. It was called a dayroom because this was where residents were supposed to spend their days. Was it still a dayroom if he came here at night? Was it still a room? He was not sure. The name was confusing, and possibly too narrow. Words were very constricting. They bound you with their limits, they kept you held inside narrow margins on the page. 

Table. It was always a table. Chair. It was always a chair. Those things were clearer. Castiel sat at the table, perched atop the chair. The room was secondary. Dayroom.

Dean watched Castiel for a moment sitting at the table, his back towards the Hunter. He took a heavy sigh before walking over to him and standing opposite the seraph. He tried his best to keep his voice calm and his face showed the strain in his words. “You realise… you just broke God's Word?”

He couldn’t look at Dean. The Word. It was more than the Word he had broken. He had broken the very Name of God. He had taken it for his own and smeared it black like the sludge that had consumed him from within. _Broken_.

This was worse than dealing with a child. The Hunter sat down across from the angel, his patience wearing thin. “It's Sam's thing, isn't it? You taking on his, uh, Cage-match scars. I'm guessing that's what broke your bank, right?”

“Well, it took... everything to get me here.” Everything. Everything. Everyone. All of his accusers, standing in a line. All the words they wanted to say to him, he had already heard. Any complaint they could lodge, they had. And he had never been able to rebuff them, never able to answer their accusations. Everything. And he was not ready, but would he ever be? His smile faltered only slightly.

“What are you talking about, man?” Dean shook his head. What the Hell happened to Cas? What happened to the bad ass angel that pulled him from Hell? The one who stood up to Michael and Lucifer for him and Sammy? Who was this broken creature in front of him rambling on about bees and cats and words that made no sense?

“Dean,” Castiel said, with the infinite patience of an angel who would - could - live forever. “I know you want different answers.”

He knew, because he’d tried all the true things, all the real things, and Dream-Dean had never been happy with the things he could say.

Dean didn’t want answers, he didn’t want to talk, he wanted _action_. He wanted - no - _needed_ to save the world again and his best weapon was… 

He gave a heavy sigh. “No, I want you to button up your coat and help us take down Leviathans.” His tongue flicked out over his lips in concentration as he studied the angel. “Do you remember what you did? With the souls? With… Crowley?”

Panic rose like a wave, rose like a bird flying from the nest, rose like smoke from fire. _What you did… with Crowley…_ He pressed his lips together firmly, then reached over to the board game. ‘Sorry!’ said the box. Sorry. I’m sorry. He shook it firmly, and then with a blink and hands and Grace that worked faster than an eye could process, he laid out the map, the pieces, the cards. The box was placed to one side, where it should be.

“Do you want to go first?”

Dean stared at Cas, shaking his head. “I want you to answer me straight, man.”

Cas stared back at him, wondering if he did not blink, would that mean he won? Would it mean he could continue not to answer? He could last a very long time without blinking, without flinching. His vessel’s eyes might sting, might dry and burn, but he could resist the animal sensations and needs, for the greater good. 

~~Like he had with Crowley…?~~

The Hunter gave a heavy, heavy sigh. He picked up a card from the table, reading it and moving his piece three spaces along the board. “Cas… come on, we need your help.”

All those souls that had burned so very brightly inside. All the prayers, begging for his help, his boon, his forgiveness. How could he possibly forget? How could the memory of his atrocities remain hidden forever? The universe itself baulked at what he had done. He had opposed the natural order of things. He’d tried to _break_ the world. He’d tried to usurp the throne. 

Life had been simpler before. Before the Winchesters. Before Crowley. Which of them made him Fall the furthest? Was there even any difference? 

“You know, we weren't sure at first which monkeys were gonna make it. No offense, but I was backing the Neanderthals because their poetry was... just amazing. It's in perfect tune--” he picked up a card, turning the stiff material over with his fingers, “...with the spheres. But in the end, it was you – the--” the piece moving, following the rules laid out in the little paper insert, the instructions, the orders, the **commands** , “... _Homo Sapiens Sapiens_.” Wise, wise man. Tautology. Saying the same thing twice. Not so wise, really. Self-aggrandisement. He could sympathise. “You guys ate the apple, invented pants.”

Pants were strange things, in a way. They covered the reproductive organs, prevented arousal from being blatant, kept dirt away from delicate parts. Humans needed pants. Monkeys did not. Monkeys in pants were cute, but faintly ludicrous. Humans without pants were the same.

Jesus fucking Christ, this was _maddening_. “Cas, where can we find this, uh, Metatron? Is he still alive?” The Hunter was hoping to get Castiel back on track. Back to the important things… not… whatever the Hell was going on in that brain of his.

The game was distressing. Dean was not doing well. Just when he made progress, _alea iacta est_ and he had to go to the beginning all over again. Progress. No progress. Regress. Retrograde. His star was falling down. “I'm sorry. I-- I think you have to go back to Start.”

The eldest Winchester looked from the board to Cas. _Well this is just grand_. He picked up one of his pieces and slammed it down on the Start square. “This is important.”

It _was_ important. Vitally important. There were rules, and Castiel had learned he had to follow them. Step after step. He waved at Dean to pick up another card, waiting until he did and then he moved his piece along the board.

Dean rolled his eyes. If Cas was going to act like a kid, then Dean was going to talk to him like one. “I think Metatron could stop a lot of bad. You understand that?”

It was Castiel’s turn to pick up a card, now. “We live in a ‘Sorry’ universe. It's engineered to create conflict. I mean, why should I prosper from... your misfortune?” Misfortune. That was one way to call what he had done to Sam, in order to keep him under control. Though Castiel had not prospered for long. He put down his piece, and moved Dean’s back to the Start. Again. Always back to the Start. No progress, ever. It was all running uphill, and sliding back down again. “But these are the rules. I didn't make them.”

God made them. God made the rules. God made everything. He made Castiel. He made board games. He made Heaven, Hell, demons, people, brothers, bees and everything inbetween.

“You made some of them. When you tried to become _God_ , when you cut that hole into that wall…” Since when did rules matter to Cas anyway? Free will? The whole giving up on destiny - on fate - mess? When did Cas turn into the exact opposite of what he had been? 

The Hunter stared at the angel in disbelief. His eyes searched Castiel’s for answers, for _anything_ that was the old Cas, but he couldn’t seem to find a spark of anything familiar.

Yes, the angel had. Although they had not been new rules, really. He had just tried to be the God he had known, once. Never personally. Never good enough to be in His presence. He had never met his father, but he’d heard all the tales. He’d thought - at the time - that he was simply continuing the legacy. But it was wrong. It was _wrong_. He was not made to be that powerful, and he’d shown just how weak he was.

...even Crowley had known to stop, before him. Even the King of Hell.

“Dean... it's your move.”

The game had to continue. If he was awake, if he was here… the game had to continue. He had to go back onto the board, back into the rules, or else he would be disqualified for cheating. Castiel did not want to cheat.

_Fucking_. Dean slammed his fist down hard on the table and swept the stupid board off, sending the pieces skittering across the hardwood floor of the dayroom. “Forget the damn game!” Dean realised he should not have yelled the moment he had done it. He drew in a calming breath. His words were softer now. “Forget the game, Cas.”

The angel didn’t like shouting. He didn’t like raised voices. He didn’t like it at all, and it was beginning to make him feel distressed. He wanted to leave again. He wanted to fly away somewhere calm and peaceful and serene. Somewhere the creatures all lived as they should do, without questions, without rebellions, without fighting. 

He was no longer sure he could stand to be in this world, the world of Sams, Deans and… Crowleys. “I'm sorry, Dean.”

Dean held the seraph’s gaze. Shaking his head slightly. “No… you're **playing** Sorry. You’re playing it just like you played me, like you played Sam, Bobby. All of us. Working with _Crowley_? Cas… come on. Nothing about that whole thing ever struck you as **wrong**? And don’t feed me that bullshit about Raphael and Heaven. I’m talkin’ about you and Crowley. And I don’t even wanna know if it’s true what he said, about you two bein’ in love or whatever. You had to know that was wrong, Cas? You _had_ to know…”

The angel got up, going over to the pieces on the floor. Broken. No. Just displaced. Out of order. Ignore the rules, shake the board, throw them to the ground. That one was Dean. That one was Sam. That one was Bobby. That one was Crowley. Which one was he? What colour was he? 

Dean’s pieces had all been red. Red like Hell. Red like Crowley’s smoke. Why had he picked that colour? Aggressive. Blood. Anger. Rage. Castiel had picked blue. Blue like the light of Heaven. Blue like the summer’s sky, or the ocean. Why?

Which was he? Was he the calm, soft whisper of the river, or was he the martial charge of bloody strife? He peered at them, willing them to make sense. Surely they should be the other way around. Surely he deserved to be red, and Dean blue? Which team was he on, anyway? And why did there even need to be ‘teams’ or ‘sides’ to begin with?

Cas wanted to defend himself, he did. He wanted to say: I did not play you. Or: It was my intention to leave you in peace. Or: I thought I was doing something that needed to be done. But he could not say those things. He had tried, before, and failed. What was the point in doing things you knew would never work? It was better just to let yourself lose, than to fight and fail.

‘You and Crowley’. Which bit, in particular, did Dean object to? The part where he’d made a deal with a demon - just like Dean himself once had done - or the part where it had become something more? Something beautiful and filled with hope, in a world that lacked for much of that? It had been an island of calm, an oasis of good in a raging sea of cruelty and evil. 

...but still… Dream Crowley was right. If he hadn’t been ashamed, if he hadn’t felt it was wrong… why would he think to hide it?

“I can remember where the pieces were,” he said, in lieu of an answer. “We can carry on.”

“Cas. I don’t wanna play the game. I need you to tell me about Metatron, if nothing else. I need to know what that tablet says so we can stop these damn Leviathans.” The Leviathans that _you_ brought into this world.

“That’s not how this works,” Cas said, apologetically. “That’s not how… I can’t… it is not… I am sorry…”

He bent down and found a red piece and a blue piece, lying side by side. They had no arms, they had no faces, they had nothing. No way to communicate with one another. They were destined to forever be at odds with one another. The game was cruel, in that sense. Perhaps the red pieces did not want to hurt the blue pieces? How would he know? And why should the red piece be treated any differently? It was only a colour, after all. It was an arrangement of atoms that reflected back certain parts of the spectrum. The piece was not red, it _refused_ the red. 

“Humans have played games for thousands of years. Some of them are still functionally the same as the first games. Are new games more enjoyable? Is any game enjoyable? It is not a true victory, and often it is chance, not skill. It is… random. It is like picking an animal at random, and deciding that animal is special. They are all special. All of them.”

“God damn it, Cas! I don’t wanna play a fucking game! We need to stop the Leviathans. That is not a game. It’s **not** a **game**! How do I make you see this? This is _real_ , Cas! The world is in _real_ danger and right now, you are the only lead we got to fix this. Do you understand me?”

He understood. He had brought them into the world, like an unwilling midwife. Like a woman in labour. He remembered the clawing, gnawing hunger. He remembered the voices, too. The voices in his head, trying to drown out the prayers. But perhaps it was not right to fight? Perhaps it was right to let them run their course. He didn’t know. He couldn’t trust anything he thought any more. 

“I cannot help you, Dean. It is not my place to translate, to read. Even if I could. It is written for another’s eyes. I am just Castiel, Dean. I am not… I cannot… _I am sorry_.”

“Even if you can’t read it, Cas… just… answer my questions. What happened to you, huh? You were always so willing to help me and Sammy when we needed it. Now you can’t even talk to me straight. All I’m asking for is information.”

Castiel started to fetch the pieces. One at a time. He cradled them carefully, as though they really were the embodiments of the names he had given them. Suddenly, something caught his attention, and he stopped, looking up to help pinpoint the source.

“What?”

“Sam,” Cas explained. “He's talking to angels.”

Cas did not wait for Dean’s response, flying straight to his old room, where Sam and Meg and the angels and the new human were.

“Castiel?” Inias looked confused.

The seraph beamed as widely as he was capable of. “Hi.”

“You're alive?”

“You.” The second angel, the female, seemed less pleased to see him.

“Hello, Hester.”

She stared at him in horror. A lot of angels had done that, in fairness. “You smote thousands in Heaven. You gave a big, scary speech. Then you were gone. What the hell was that?!”

“Rude, for one thing.” 

“Where have you been?” Inias asked.

“Oh, Inias. Hester, I... I know you want something – answers. I... I wish it could be that…” That simple. That easy. That good. “There are still many things I can teach you. I can offer, um, well, perspective.” From one who lost everything. 

“Here.” He held out his hand to Hester. “Pull my finger.” 

But Hester didn’t move at all.

“Uh... Uh... Meg will – will get another light, and I'll – I'll blow it out again. And, well, this time, it'll be funny, and – and we'll all look back and laugh.” He was trying so desperately hard to make her smile, to lift the stormcloud from her face. She looked angry and sad, and he was tired of people looking angry and sad. He did not really know many jokes.

“You're insane,” Hester said instead.

“Hey,” Dean called out, from the doorway. He’d finally caught up. “Heads up, Sunshine.”

The Hunter slammed his hand into the angel-banishing sigil drawn just out of sight outside the room. Bright white light flashed, burning after-effects into eyes and sending all three angels far, far away.

“All angels blown back to their corners,” he explained. “We got like three, four hours tops.”

Sam pointed to the angel blade that Meg was holding. “Meg, where did you get that?”

“A lot of angels died this year,” was all she would say.

The mop-haired teenager stared around, frantic with worry. “What's happening?! What's happening?!”

“What is that?” Dean asked, indicating the scared kid.

“It's, uh... Kevin Tran. He's, uh, in Advanced Placement,” Sam said, as if it explained everything. Like why he was here, and why he could read things he had no right knowing how to.

“Right. Well. Everyone in the car, let’s vamoose.”


	48. Chapter 48

Crowley appeared in Cecily’s apartment right away when she called him. “I take it you’ve got something on all this bizarre weather?”

“Sort of…” Cecily said, nodding towards the couch. “You might wanna sit down, boss.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Cecily let a deep breath out. “Castiel is alive. I’ve known for a little while, but he’s been in a coma in a mental institution in Indiana. He’s been totes out of it, completely unresponsive - until tonight. When all this happened. Whatever is going on, it _has_ to be directly related to him.”

Crowley stared at the younger demon, lips slightly parted. “Come again?”

_Oh, God. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me for not telling him sooner_.

“He’s alive. And now, as of a few hours ago, he’s vertical.”

Alive… _alive_. The angel, **his** angel was alive! Had this been anyone else - _anyone_ \- he probably would have killed them for withholding the information. But this was Cecily and she had done more for him than… well… anyone had in a long time. His heart pounded hard and fast in his chest and he wasn’t quite sure what exactly he wanted to say.

Cecily stood, chewing on her lip, awaiting the snap would send her to Purgatory. Oh God… but Purgatory. She really, _really_ didn’t want to go there. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. 

“--Crowley?”

“Where is he?”

“Crowley, there’s more you need to know. He’s-- he’s not how you remember him.”

The King of Hell narrowed his eyes. “What’s that mean?”

“He’s… sort of… whacked out.”

Whacked out or not. This was his angel they were talking about. His angel that was _alive_. The one that had been presumed dead. He didn’t care if something was not quite right. He wanted to see him - he _needed_ to see him. 

“I don’t care. Where is he, Cecily?”

“The Winchesters are also there.”

“Of fucking course they are.” Why would they not be.

“And Meg… and some kid named Kevin Tran. The source of everything was traced back to Tran’s house in Michigan, but we have no idea how or why he was involved yet, and--”

“Cecily. Please, darling.”

“Northern Indiana State Hospital.”

Crowley left in a blink without another word.

Cecily realised she was holding her breath and now that the King had gone and _not_ ended her life, she let the air out of her lungs. This could not end well. What if Cas didn’t remember Crowley? What ifs ran through her head… it had been more than heartbreaking to see the King of Hell shattered. She didn’t want him to go through that again. She wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on anyone - and as a demon… that said a lot.

***

Crowley bounced around chasing lead after lead. It seemed this version of Cas was not holding back on his apparent need to vanish every five seconds. Cecily kept him updated via text messages, but it seemed like he’d never find him as he stood in the middle of King’s Park Botanical Gardens in Perth, Australia. 

He was facing the rising sun, listening to the sounds of nature waking up for the day. He checked his phone - nothing from Cecily. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his overcoat.

“I know you’re hiding you little shit!” The demon’s voice echoed ever so slightly in the area, startling a tree full of birds, sending them flapping their tiny wings as fast as they could into the sky. Bloody birds and their bloody wings and their stupid, stupid feathers. 

Of course Castiel was hiding. Why wouldn’t he be? Crowley was probably angry with him. _He_ was angry with him. Very. Disappointed. Without words and people to fill the silences, he’d been left with only the voices inside of his own head. The ones that said… that said…

Maybe if he waited long enough, Crowley would give in, like he had everywhere else? Cas watched him with resigned dread. He’d had enough yelling with Dean, Sam, Meg, Hester and Inias.

“Castiel… _please_... Cas… if you’re listening…” Crowley couldn’t quite bring himself to say it aloud right now… Cas had left a fairly large wound in his absence - one that wasn’t healed by far. He hadn’t tried to pray to him before this moment, and it’d been awhile since he’d even spoken his name. 

The demon willed the tears not to fall. Another unanswered prayer. God, this was torture. Bloody torture. Hadn’t he taught Cas when to know enough was enough? Hadn’t the apprentice shined brighter than the master? The angel should know that this was too much. That news of the angel walking the world once more would’ve been music to Crowley’s ears and to evade him… to… to not come home… like he’d promised. 

It was just too much. Crowley wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and went straight back to Hell. Straight back to where he kept that stupid overcoat hanging. A shaky hand reached out to grip the black bag that protected it. And Crowley wept… again.

He wasn’t sure how long he let himself fall apart as time was so different in Hell, but, eventually, he picked himself up off the floor and headed back to Perth. That garden was beautiful and if the angel liked gardens, why shouldn’t he be at the King’s Park? He folded the tan overcoat gently over his arm as he cleared his throat. 

“Castiel, sweetheart. I’ve got a little something for you that you might be missing. It’s an old favourite of yours… might make you feel a little more _you_...” It was a last ditch effort, but then again… it truly was Crowley’s last ditch effort. He had nothing else. If the angel didn’t want to come for Crowley himself, perhaps… 

Cas had hoped the demon leaving was the end of it. He’d hoped he’d flown off and left because he’d given up. Of course he wouldn’t give up that easily, would he? No. Cas knew the demon too well for that. He was stubborn. It was why they had managed to ope--

_No_. Thoughts down that line were abruptly, firmly stopped.

When Crowley came back, Cas watched him curiously. Was that? Had he? Head to one side, he examined what looked - for all intents and purposes - to be… his coat?

“It is difficult to recreate something so perfect,” he said, flapping into sight just behind him.

Crowley spun around. _That voice_. The one he thought he’d never hear again. The one that haunted him day in and day out. “Angel,” he breathed, eyes threatening to flood with tears once more. “It’s really you.” 

Any witty remark or smirk that he may have planned had gone out the window. He threw his arms around Cas and hugged him - suddenly remembering what Cecily had said about him not being the same as he was. He immediately backed off, smoothing the ridiculous looking white scrub top that you always saw the mental patients wearing, before handing Castiel the coat triumphantly. 

“I think this belongs to you.” That was it. That was the super witty and charming remark that came out of his mouth as he stood, smiling like a schoolgirl who had just been asked out by her crush.

Cas went completely, utterly still as the demon embraced him. He wanted so badly to return it, to wrap his arms around him in response. He wanted to drop his chin on the demon’s head. Wanted to breathe back in the smell of him… but he felt… he felt… 

… _dirty_.

“Thank you for my coat,” he said, taking it solemnly, as if it was a package passed between diplomats. He bowed slightly, over the tan fabric. It felt strange. It felt like it had been cleaned. Made sense, after all. Wash off the sin and the failure. He looked down at it, considering.

“You came a long way to give me this back. I appreciate it. This is not-- is not ‘me’...” He gestured to the hospital clothes. “Although this coat is not me, either. It is simply more me than other things which are not me. It became… customary. You do things because they are comfortable. This is comfortable.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes as the angel spoke, biting at his bottom lip. “Yes… well… comfortable…” Yet again the angel had the demon at a loss for words. There was so many things he wanted to say, so many questions, so many truths he’d left unspoken. So many things he wished he’d done differently… 

“How are you, angel?” It broke his heart that this was the conversation they were having. It should’ve been Castiel returning his hug and the two of them unable to stop saying _I love you_ in between kisses and tight embraces. Instead… it was as though they were two acquaintances catching up after years of not seeing one another. And it **hurt**.

The angel held the coat by the shoulders and shoot it out. It fell easily into place, as if it was simply waiting for the angel-shaped filler. What was a coat without a coatee? It was a non-coat. It was useless. It performed no function. It was perhaps not the most attractive of coats, but it was… his. He slipped one arm into a sleeve, then shuffled it over his shoulders as he redressed himself. No. Wait. No shoelaces. No shoelaces in a mental institution. Would they allow a coat? Or was he not to go back there, now? 

The coat fell awkwardly, because the other clothes were wrong. His throat held no tie. Again, no ties. No nothing, really. It was like a sack. A potato sack. He was potatoes, now. Not an angel. Putting the coat back on did not make him feel… as he had. He doubted anything would. 

He twirled on his heel, the mockery of a ‘how do I look’, and then he looked over at Crowley. His eyes were filled with sorrow, but sorrow that never hit his words, just coloured his tone. 

“I am not dead. Or… not now. I probably was, again. I am dead a lot. I don’t know why. I think to tell me I did something wrong. Maybe I will cease dying when I stop doing things wrong. If I can stop doing things wrong. I don’t know how to do that, though.”

Head to one side, and it stayed like that. “You are not dead, either.”

Crowley wanted to tell the angel it was not his fault: that, if anything, he was simply steered in the wrong direction by a cunning salesman who also happened to be in charge of Hell. But he recognised a fractured psyche when he saw one, and one wrong word to the seraph and he’d fly away and it’d be damn near impossible to get him to speak to Crowley again.

He gave a dry chuckle. “I am not… no…” But every day that passed made him wonder if he was, in fact, dead. The aching emptiness he felt without Castiel in his life made him believe he’d prefer to be dead - to run for his life every minute of his existence in Purgatory. It sounded much better than a life without Castiel, to be honest. 

Crowley bit his tongue to keep the declaration of undying love from leaving his mouth. He wanted to beg forgiveness - that was supposed to be easier than asking permission, yes? Then why was it so hard? Why couldn’t he find the words to speak to the angel before him? Had he not gone over this scenario a thousand different ways? He had thought up every line of conversation - except this one. He hadn’t accounted for a plot twist where Cas wasn’t _his_.

“I’m glad you’re not dead.” The King of Smooth Talking.

“That is very kind,” the angel said, with a nod and a smile. A pause. “I… am glad you are not dead either.”

He was. If this was real. It _felt_ real, but so had a lot of things. And what was truth, when you boiled down to it, really? What was it? He turned to walk off, into the gardens. He could hear a bee again, somewhere. Buzzing. Pollinating. Flying. Living. 

Crowley smiled - a broken, pained smile, but a smile, nonetheless - at Castiel’s sentiments, which the demon assumed were as good as it was going to get. This wasn’t his Cas. It was some piece of him, yes… but… he just… wasn’t.

He let the angel wander away. He stood in the same spot for a long time, staring at the place the seraph had stood. 

A shaky breath in. “Good talk…” 

And the demon was gone.


	49. Chapter 49

Castiel walked away into the garden, but the demon did not follow. He left. He was good at leaving. It was his main skill. Leaving. Leaving and breaking things. Two whole skills. It was better than none. He would prefer no skills. He would prefer to be useless. A baby in a trenchcoat. 

Trenchcoat. Named for trenches. Huge, gashing swathes cut out of the earth for people to die in. Smiling, yawning, gaping maws into the ground. Graves pre-prepared. Pre-prepared? Was that right? Was that what he wanted to say? He was wearing the coat, because the demon - his demon - was he still his demon? - had brought it for him. It was the colour of the underneath of tree-bark, like the coat around the trunk. That was right. Trees needed the bark. Protection. Did Cas need protection? Did the coat lend him any protection?

Not so far. It had not deflected Lucifer, nor the Leviathans. It had not deflected Death, Death, Death. No shield was this coat. He had thought, perhaps, when he put it back on that he would be himself again. As if Castiel - the Castiel he had been - was somehow in the warp and weft. As if the colours flying like a banner could call him from his pain. But did he want to be him? Did he want to be that Castiel?

That Castiel had done terrible things. He’d murdered, slaughtered, massacred. He’d betrayed and he’d lied. He was not an angel, not truly. Even Lucifer had not killed so many as he had. Lucifer had felt regret killing his kindred. Castiel? Had not. He was _worse_. No. Not comparative. Superlative. **Worst**. He was the **worst** angel. He did not deserve the title, the rank, the name, the order - did not deserve the Grace he had been created with. Broken little angel, wandering about in the dark.

All he had been was wrong. All he had done had been wrong. A soldier who instead of waging wars... committed genocide. A follower who changed allegiance from one master to another, who wandered from God’s plan to Dean’s plan to the King’s plan to his own. An angel who loved, but whose love turned wrong, bitter, foul and vile. Love, but selfish. Taking, taking, taking. Using the thing he claimed to love and favour above all others. The Dream Crowley had said as much. Take, take, take. Never admit, never confess, because he knew… he knew. 

He had loved him. He still did. Seeing Crowley had hurt, but not in a way he enjoyed. Demon.

**Demon**. Red eyes, red smoke, eyes rimmed with pain. Was that why he was red? Swollen from crying. He never meant to hurt him. He never meant to cause him pain, but he had. He’d thrown him away, he’d run away, he’d left.

~~Why didn’t he follow?~~

Crowley was better… without him. Without the pain he inflicted. He had left. He had left. Who? Who had done the leaving, this time? Was it mutual, for once? 

The coat did not make him Castiel once more. It did not set things right. It was just a mask, just a covering. A vessel for a vessel for an angel. He put his hands in pockets, and his fingers found the seams. Seams. Where two sides came together, pierced over and over with a needle and thread. To make the two meet, you had to puncture them, you had to damage them. It was the only way. Violence. It was not quite even, because some sides were longer than others, and the threads were imperfectly level. A machine had done this, but the machine was flawed in its own way, the same as a human hand was. Pockets held things. Holes, but holes for things. Gaps made to contain. Did you have to be empty, to allow something inside of you?

Suddenly the coat felt _wrong_ against him. Felt… felt… _heavy_ and stiff. Heavy like a yoke around his neck, like a millstone, tugging him down into the river. It was why it had left him. An anchor, holding him in place. Holding him still, in a sea of pain. He shrugged it off, and let it fall to the ground. It was not enough. Next were the starched whites that proclaimed him _unclean_ , unwell, unsound, unsafe. Insane. Off they went, too, and everything that stood between the angel and the world.

He was naked on the grass. Naked like Adam and Eve one had been, so long, long ago. Naked and blameless and innocent, before the serpent showed them - tempted them - offered the _deal_ : eat of the fruit and ye shall know good and evil. Eat of the fruit and ye shall know Death, it should have been. A lie and a truth and a lie and a truth and there were trees here, but they had not come with a sign. Crowley had come with a sign. **Demon, demon, demon** , but he had opened up his maw and eaten. He had eaten down sin, he had eaten in souls. 

Not so easy as all that, though, was it? Good and evil and Death, but freedom, too. Demon and Devil and King, but love, too. He wanted to be angry with him for all of this, he did. He wanted to slam him to a wall, to a tree, to a cross and scream _you have broken me_ , but when he had seen him he could not. It was not Crowley’s doing, really, truly, underneath. He had offered the temptation, and you could not claim he was blameless, innocent, pure… but he had not meant for this, had he? Angels dead. **Beasts** that walked the earth. Hindsight was perfect vision, the eyes in the back of the head the ones you wish you had in front. 

He looked down at his vessel and felt shame. Vessel. Body. Which was it, now? There was nothing else inside of it to keep him company now. No human soul - Jimmy long since gone - no souls from Hell, no souls from Purgatory… no… _demon_.

Crowley had been in him. More ways than one. In him biblically, and in him spiritually. He remembered both of them, but one was a more pleasant memory than another. He looked down at his body and he couldn’t see, but he knew it was forever marked where kisses had landed, where hands had touched. He did not feel arousal at the memories, because his heart hurt too much. Maybe it would have been better if he had? Would it have helped? If he’d begged for Crowley to take him again, like he had that night when all he’d known was grief and pain? 

It had helped, then. It had soothed the ache of loss, of grief. Should he throw himself to his knees at the demon and whisper _please_? 

No. It would be selfish, to demand it. It would be wrong of him. Take, take, take. It was all he did. 

He loved Crowley. Even now, he loved him. But he had left, he had forgotten him. He had cast the demon from his mind - literally and metaphorically - and he had no right to still expect that Crowley would want him back. He was fractured, shattered, and pointless. A soldier who no longer wanted to fight, a rebel who wanted orders to follow. He could not hear God, so he looked for him in the works he’d left behind.

Bees and trees and seas. The bee did not ask ‘Why?’ and the tree did not refuse to grow. The sea never came in, but did not go back out. Ignorance, bliss, bliss entire. He was sure the bee never felt like he did. He wished he was a bee, instead. 

He found a hive by following one closely. He blipped after it, following it from flower to flower. It was not a big enough thought to drive out the other thoughts, but he tried. He followed it home and there were so many of them that he could watch every one at once, could track all their paths and their motivations and the dance of them around him was almost enough to fill the places in his head he did not want to leave empty.

If you left them empty, then things filled them up.

He missed Crowley.

Crowley was better off without him.

***

Everywhere Crowley went when he left Perth he found something to remind him of the angel…. he didn’t want to go back to Hell. He didn’t want to do anything, really. He probably should’ve followed Cas when he walked away, but to be honest… the angel seemed so disinterested, so… cold.

It hurt when the hug wasn’t returned, when he wasn’t able to cover Cas in kisses and tell him how much he missed him, and how much he loved him, and that he was sorry - god, how he was sorry. He couldn’t help but feel like if he’d tried harder, if he’d been able to somehow kick the Leviathan out, if he had never suggested the idea in the first place… Cas would be better off.

And therein lie the truth. Cas would be better off had Crowley not interfered at all. 

It’s true that had he not interfered he would not have been working with Cas and in turn, their relationship might never have happened… but at least Cas would not have felt compelled to stop those damn Winchesters by whatever means necessary, in other words: breaking down the Great Wall of Sam. Which would mean he wouldn’t have been compelled to fix it. Which would mean… he wouldn’t be broken.

This was all Crowley’s fault. Wasn’t he supposed to be the expert? Shouldn’t he have **known** it was getting out of hand? Cas was struggling with the burden of absolute power and Crowley just laid down and let him run around out of control. If Crowley had paid closer attention, if he hadn’t been so blinded by hubris - hubris… the word Cas used. 

Crowley sat on a bench alone, somewhere snowy and bleak. He didn’t even know how he had gotten there or where he was. He put his head in his hands and sobbed. This was all his fault. This was _his_ doing and there was no magic reset button, no easy fix. Things were stuck like this: fucked the Hell up. He missed his angel. He missed him so much the his gut wrenched in agony, his muscles ached, and every beat of his heart in his chest felt like a knife being twisted in farther because his angel didn’t want him anymore. 

_His angel… didn’t want him anymore._

And nothing short of Castiel himself - back in his right mind - could convince him otherwise.

***

The angel found them easily, from Meg’s directions. She was clear and precise and he appreciated that. There was no room for interpretation there. It was an order he could follow. He found the humans and the demon and the car travelling at speed, and he landed in the only free space, between the demon and the Prophet.

“Ahh!” greeted the Prophet. It was not a customary welcome, but he understood it all the same.

“Kevin, this is Castiel,” Meg said, kindly introducing them.

“You're one of the angels?” he asked.

He was in name if nothing else, even if he was no longer doing the things and angel should. Instead of answering, he pushed his finger to the Prophet’s squishy nose-end. “Boop.”

Then he turned to Meg. “Meg, are you hurt?” It was a valid question. She might be hurt. Especially if Crowley found out she was still alive. Alive and talking to the Winchesters. It was like a collection of Crowley’s least-favourite things in the world, all in one. And here he was. With them all. Instead of him.

“Shut up.” Meg was rude again. But she was a demon, so he forgave her.

“Cas, what happened back there? Who were those guys?” Dean glanced back at him using the rearview mirror, trying to examine him and keep eyes on the road at the same time. Thankfully it was late and the road was empty for the most part.

“They're from the Garrison – my old Garrison,” he explained. “Looks like Hester's taken over. We were assigned to watch the earth. Often, it was boring. The wars were very boring and the sex – you know, the repetition...” Boring to watch, really. It had never held any appeal for him back then. Hadn’t even, when he took a vessel. It hadn’t been until he’d felt a connection, felt a pull, that--

Castiel stopped that train of thought. “Anyway, I was, uh... I was their Captain. Isn't that strange?”

“Cas, why are they pissed at us now?” Sam asked.

‘Now’, Cas thought, because that was an important qualifier. The angels were often ‘pissed’ with the Winchesters. With reason, too. Even Castiel found them irritating at times.

He decided to ignore that question, and turned instead to Meg. “You know, those racing dogs were absolutely miserable. They can only think in ovals.” 

Rules again. Not natural rules, like the migratory patterns of geese and swallows. Not the order of things. Dogs were not made to chase a mechanical thing. It was pointless, really. A race with no reward. On and on. Her races were pointless, too. Azazel. Lucifer. They had fallen. Only Crowley remained.

Dean nearly slammed the steering wheel in frustration. “Cas, don't make me pull this car over! Why are angels after us?”

“Are you angry? Why are you angry?” He didn’t like it when people were angry with him. They were often right when they were, and he did not like it. Hester was angry with him, and he was sorry. Dean was angry with him, and he was sorry. Crowley…? Why hadn’t he….

“No, I-- I'm... Please, can we just stay on target?”

Dean was lying. Dean was mad. Lying was bad. Maybe if he told him things, he would stop being angry and bad.

“There is no reason for anger. They're only following protocol.” No freedom, still. Always following the rules. His rebellion had been for nothing but death. “If the Word of God is revealed, a Keeper of the Word will awaken, like this--” a finger on the Prophet’s nose again, it was a particularly satisfying nose, “--hot potato right here.”

The Prophet batted his hand away. “Please stop that.”

“Anyway,” Cas continued. “Garrison code dictates you take the Keeper to the desert to learn the Word away from men.”

“What kind of sense does that make?” Dean huffed. “He has to tell us so that we can use it.”

Of course Dean thought the only sense of the universe would be that the universe was designed around him and his needs, not the Greater Plan. It had been a mistake he had made himself, but no more. “That's God and his shiny red apples.”

Putting fruit where you could see it, where you would want it.

“I can't live in the desert. I - I'm applying to Princeton!” Kevin sounded horrified at the prospect. Cas was not sure why. Deserts were nice places.

Dean was growling again. He was still angry. “Okay, you know what? Screw the Garrison. We need the tablet to end Sick Roman's ‘Soylent Us’ crap.”

“If you want the Word, you'll have to duck Hester and her soldiers,” Cas explained.

“Yeah, you're in our corner, right, Cas?”

That was Sam. Sam who - for some reason - did not hate him for what he’d done as much as Dean did. It was strange. He had done more harm to Sam, in the long-run. Much more.

“No, I don't fight anymore. I watch the bees.”

He was not a very good soldier, but he was an even worse Captain. He had to find something else he was good at. Something that did not involve so much death. He had seen enough death to last him his thrice-cursed lifetime.


	50. Chapter 50

Hiding was not fighting. Hiding was hiding. It was non-combative, so it was okay. Castiel drew the sigils hiding the cabin from angelic oversight in chalk, with precision and care. “Let's leave off angel-proofing sigils or I'll be expelled, too,” he pointed out. Same with demon-proofing. Meg would not be able to come, then.

“As long as we're invisible to your Garrison buddies, it works for me,” Sam agreed.

“You seem troubled,” the angel said. “Of course, that's a primary aspect of your personality, so I sometimes ignore it.” Sam was troubled. Dean was troubled. Winchester might have derived from the same Indo-European root.

“Okay.” Sam wasn’t sure how to take that, coming from the guy they’d just pulled from the psych ward, who thought that ‘Pull my finger’ was hilarious, and seemed incapable of holding onto one train of thought for more than thirty seconds. “Um... right now I'm just wondering about you.”

“What about me? You're worried about the burden I lifted from you.”

“I think I was done for,” Sam admitted. He’d never felt so… out of control. Even when he’d been addicted to demon blood. It had been… different. _Worse_. “Do you see Lucifer?”

“I did at first. But that was... It was a projection of yours, I think. Sort of an aftertaste. Now I more see... well. Everything.”

Everything. Like the air motes in the room that sparkled. Like the way Meg looked at him like he was a meal ticket and a guardian in one. Like the way she was thinking she could use him to hurt Crowley, or how she secretly actually liked it when he said nice things about her because no one else did. She was watching, even now. Always watching. He felt sorry for her, really. Felt very sorry for her.

“It's funny. I was – I was done for, too,” he admitted. Lost in his head, in his thoughts, in the dreams that angels were never supposed to have. 

Meg had stayed with him. It had been partially selfish, of course, but she could have been a lot less kind to him. Demons had made bad decisions, but Cas couldn’t help but feel pity for them, not rage. Perhaps it was because Crowley had opened his eyes? 

She left, now, and he knew she was concealing something. She had some plan, but it did not worry him. She would not be stopped, so he did not try.

“The weight of all my mistakes,” Cas went on. “--all those lives and souls lost, I... I couldn't take it, either. I was… I was lost until I took on your pain. It's strange to think that that helped, but--”

But it had helped. In a way. He deserved the pain - it was pain he had caused, and it should not have been on anyone else’s shoulders. He should be punished for his transgressions, not Sam.

“I know you never did anything but try to help. I realise that, Cas, and I'm grateful. We're all grateful. And we're gonna help you get better, okay? No matter what it takes.”

Why was Sam so ready to forgive him? He wasn’t sure he deserved it. Not really. “What do you mean, ‘better’?” he asked. He was confused. How could he be ‘better’? This was right. It was right that Castiel be punished, and it was right that he live within the lines. That he followed the rules. That he refused to join the fight. He did not want to fight, not any more. He just wanted the world to keep on spinning on.

“Uhm, you… know you’re not yourself, right?”

Castiel did not want to be the ‘self’ that they remembered. 

“Did you know that your hair continues to grow after you are dead? I suspect with the length of your hair, it would not be noticeable, and a mortuary assistant would not need to trim your locks, before the funeral.”

“See? This is what I mean. You keep… drifting, man. Like you’re running away from stuff.”

“I am sitting perfectly still.”

“That’s not what I meant, Cas, and you know it.”

“I tried to run away - to forget it all - but even then, it found me. I was… I was peaceful. It was a lie.”

“Yeah, Emmanuel, wasn’t it?”

Castiel nodded. “But that was not fair. I must remember the things I did wrong, so that I can avoid doing them again.”

“Yeah, I hear ya. But you can’t just… you can’t just hide from _everything_ , Cas. I mean. We all fuck up at times. I… I opened the Cage in the first place. But you just gotta… find a way to make it right, by doing as much good as you can.”

“Now that skank’s gone,” Dean interrupted, coming back into the living room, “what’s say you and me put down the mousetrap, Sammy?”

“Sure.” Sam gave Cas one last, lingering look and pushed to his feet.

Cas wished they weren’t going to try this, but he knew there was no arguing with them. Meg was a demon.

The Winchesters would never accept her - or any demon - ever again.

***

Meg returned to the cabin after taking out the two demons that were on their tail. Half of her expected a thank you, maybe even a good job. Then again, who was she kidding? These were the Winchesters and all they were concerned about was _I, me, mine_. She opened the door and walked in, but suddenly she was stopped - literally - in her tracks. 

_You have got to be kidding me_.

Sam flicked on the light, illuminating the Devil’s Trap under her feet. “Didn't expect to see you back,” he said, calmly.

“Yeah, not without the King's army,” Dean added, holding his hand out towards the demon. “Knife.”

Meg sighed heavily, handing Dean the knife. “Typical. I save our bacon, and you're sitting here, waiting by a Devil's Trap. Seriously, I just killed two of Crowley's men. I could have gone the other way on that.”

The seraph’s eyes narrowed unhappily. He did not want any more bloodshed on any side, but currently Meg was in danger and he had to protect her. “It's true, incidentally. There's other demons' blood on that blade.”

Meg looked at Dean again. “Look, I'm simpler than you think. I've figured one thing out about this world… just one, pretty much. You find a cause, and you serve it. Give yourself over, and it orders your life. Lucifer and Yellow Eyes - their mission was it, for me.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at the demon. “So, what? We should trust you because you wanted to free Satan from Hell?”

“I'm talking _cause_ , douchebag. As in: reason to get up in the morning. Obviously, these things _shift_ over time. We learn, we grow. Now for me, currently, the cause is bringing down the King. And I know I'll need help to do it.”

“Crowley ain't the problem this year.” Dean spat. They had bigger fish to fry right now, Crowley and his little Kingdom would just have to wait. They needed to get Dick under control.

Meg was getting aggravated with these idiots. They never saw the bigger picture.

“When are you gonna get it? Crowley's _always_ the problem. He's just waiting for the right moment to strike. I know what I'm supposed to do, and it isn't screw with Sam and Dean or lose the only angel who'd go to bat for me.” Because Meg knew if Crowley wasn’t taken down and destroyed, she _would_ lose the angel. As long as the King of Hell was alive and kicking, those beautiful blue eyes of his would **never** be thinking of anything but Crowley.

Sam moved to break the Devil’s Trap, but Cas made a little noise behind him, and he stopped, looking back at him.

“Crowley is not the problem, Meg. I understand you and he have your differences, but you must move on from them or he _will_ try to kill you, and I do not think he will stop until one of you is no more.”

Meg raised an eyebrow at Castiel. “Now, angel… you know how I feel about that smarmy dick.” And I know how you feel about _him_. “You have to understand: this is my cause. It’s what I’m here to do. You can understand that can’t you, sweetie? Orders?” Meg’s voice was calm and even and her eyes never left the angel’s.

“You are not under orders to harm him,” Cas said, fighting the urge to lower his eyes. He did not want to do this - he did not want to fight, even in the slightest - but he… he couldn’t stand by and watch her plot the King’s demise. He could not, and would not. “There must be a way you and he can reconcile. You have have your differences, but I could speak to him--”

“Could you, now? I was wondering where you found that old thing,” Meg nodded at the overcoat. 

“You spoke to Crowley? Cas…” Dean chimed in.

“He did restore my clothing to me,” Cas admitted. “I did not tell him that I was working with you, but I am sure he will know.” He always did, didn’t he?

“Uhm, Cas… the last time you and Crowley worked together?” Sam started.

Cas cringed. “The real problem is Hester.”

"I think the _real_ problem here is you sneaking around to see Crowley. Isn't that how everything bad started? Sneaking around with that dick? Do you really think he's good for you, Clarence?"

Meg kept her hands by her sides, but her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched Castiel pale whilst she spoke the uncomfortable truths she knew he didn't want to hear. "Look at the all the bad things that happened that were directly related to you working with him. You gotta ask yourself... do you really wanna be _that_ angel again?"

“I… I did not say we were working together…” he mumbled, faltering under her ire. “I just do not want to see you - any of you - fight. It is… it is possible… for us all to get along. For us all to be ‘friends’.” He drew the marks with his fingers, in case they did not hear it in his voice. 

"Crowley is _no one's_ **friend**. Whatever bullshit he fed you last time was just that. We're not gonna just 'get along' with him." Meg regained her composure, but it was clearly a struggle.

"I'm sorry, angel. I just mean that we need to focus on the bigger problem here, which is Crowley. He's got his hands in everything, and it wouldn't surprise me if he was working right alongside Dick Roman. He's a salesman, he goes to the highest bidder." Meg looked over at Sam and Dean. "You know I'm right."

“She’s got a point,” Sam reluctantly agreed, scuffing through the trap with his toe.

“No,” Cas argued, looking to the brothers pleadingly. “You do not understand. He would not want to work with the Leviathan. When he was in me, we--”

“Wait, what?” Dean sputtered.

“It is hard to explain, but--”

Then there was a whirling noise outside, and Castiel started. “ _Hester_. Those demons you killed, Meg. Proofing or not, when you do something like that, then--”

The door burst open, Hester and Inias storming into the cabin in full vengeful angel mode. “You took the Prophet from us?!”

“I'm – I'm sorry?”

Castiel hadn’t done that, Dean had, but somehow all her rage was directed at him. All he’d done was explain things, and paint a few sigils to hide them, but she was still angry. He suspected it was not really about the Prophet, and that she was using that as an excuse.

“You have fallen in every way imaginable,” she spat at him. Like he was a demon. Like he was _Lucifer_.

“Please, Castiel,” Inias begged, desperate to avoid more conflict. “We have to follow the code. Help us do our work.”

Dean scoffed. “He can't help you. He can't help anybody.”

It was true, Castiel thought. No matter what he tried, it went wrong. Even when he had just been Emmanuel, he had abandoned his friend Daphne. Daphne who had taken him in, who had cared for him. She had loved him, he knew, but he had not been able to love her back. He wondered why he thought of her now, why she had not been in the list of accusers who came to his bedside to torment him? Why now?

“We don't need his help... or his permission.” The female angel nodded at Inias, who inclined his head in response. He vanished, and then her attention turned back to the others. “The Keeper goes to the desert tonight.”

A moment later and Inias was there, with Kevin in his grasp.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dean snapped. “Back off. We're actually trying to clean up one of your angel's messes! You know that.”

“He's right. An angel brought the Leviathan back into this world, and – and they begged him. They begged him not to do it.” ‘Him’. Like it was another angel. Castiel wished it was another angel. Another angel, not him. He wished he didn’t recall it all with perfect, crystal clarity.

“Look, just give us some time, okay? We will take care of your Prophet,” Dean insisted. After all, they didn’t want to hurt him. He was just a kid. Just a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Why should we give you anything... after everything you have taken from us?” Hester’s eyes were still angry. “The very touch of you corrupts. When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost! For that, you're going to pay.”

The female angel walked closer to Dean, but even now Castiel did not - could not - stand by and let his charge be hurt.

“Please,” he begged. “They're the ones we were put here to protect.”

“No, Castiel.” Hester slapped the seraph back-handedly, knocking him to the ground. 

Sam and Dean made to go to his help, but Inias and the other angel lifted fingers, stopping them in their tracks.

“No more madness!” A punch, which he did not duck from, or block. “No more promises!” Again. “No more new Gods!” 

He did not fight back, simply kneeling where he fell, his nose bloodied from her blows, waiting for the inevitable. It would be a mercy, after all. He did not even flinch as she produced the angel blade.

“Hester! No!” Inias grabbed her arm, holding it back. “Please! There's so few of us left.”

She simply used her knife-arm to punch the other angel, then turned back to Castiel. “You wanted free will - now I'm making the choices.” 

As Hester lifted the blade to make the killing blow, a bright, white light flared from her core and she fell to the ground in a shadow of her wings. Behind her, Meg pulled her own angel blade back.

“What? Someone had to.”

Castiel lowered his head. Another angel dead, and he was - in part - responsible for it. He had not wanted Hester dead, though she had wanted it of him. He felt… grief. But he knew that Meg had only been trying to protect him, after all.

***

“These are strange times,” Inias said, looking over at his once-Captain. 

“I think they've always been.” Just before, Castiel had been blinded by other things, blinded by the sheer… wealth of data to notice the quirks, the flaws, the problems.

The younger angel put a reassuring hand on the seraph’s arm. “I wish you'd come with us.”

“Oh, I'm not part of the Garrison anymore, Inias.” A sad little smile. “I'm sorry.”

“Maybe you will be, again, some day.”

Over by the table, the Prophet handed over the notebook filled with his impossibly-neat Advanced-Placement script to Sam.

“Thanks, Kevin. Not a lot of people could have handled this,” the younger brother said, as reassuringly as he could.

“You doing all right there, ‘Chosen One’?” Dean added.

“Yeah.”

Inias gave one last look to Castiel, then went to the Prophet. “Are you ready, Kevin Tran?”

The two Garrison angels put a hand on each shoulder, and Kevin clutched at the tablet.

“Bring the Keeper to his home,” Inias instructed. “We can watch over him there.” And in a flap, they were gone.

Which left only the Winchesters and Castiel.

“I couldn't find Meg anywhere,” Dean said, reluctantly.

“Yes, well, she enjoys laying low,” Cas agreed. He knew it was his own fault. He knew that his defence of her sworn nemesis had upset her. He had not meant to upset her, because she was such a broken creature, and she deserved pity as much as the next being. It was just… he could not let her harm Crowley, and he would protect her from him as well he could, but… he’d been there before. Trying to keep Crowley both safe, and muzzled from hurting his friends. It had not been… easy, or all that successful.

Sam, meanwhile, was studying Kevin’s translation. “Here,” he said, when he found the bit he needed. “...‘Leviathan cannot be slain, but by a bone of a righteous mortal washed in the three bloods of the fallen.’ Uh... It says we need to start with the blood of a fallen angel.”

The two Hunters looked in unison to the seraph.

Ah. Yes. He was fallen, wasn’t he? Pretty badly, all told. 

“Well, you know me,” he said, twirling a vial around in his hand. It was a cheap trick, and it did not hurt at all. “I'm always happy to bleed for the Winchesters.”

The angel handed over the vial to Dean, who took it gingerly.

“Thanks. Look, Cas… I don’t know what it is about you and demons, but… you ever thinking of maybe cutting back on demonic interaction?” the eldest Hunter said.

Cas stirred, uncomfortable, and frowned at Dean. “It is not a problem, Dean. I am not colluding with them. With either of them. I just think the world would be a better place if we could all find some way to… get along.”

“Hunters, demons, and angels don’t just _get along_ , no matter how badly you might want them to. Things just don’t work like that, okay? Now you’re supposed to be one of the good guys - contrary to some of the angels I’ve met - but either way… hanging out with demons has never worked out good for any of us. You understand what I’m sayin’?”

No, angels were not supposed to get on with either humans or demons. The three groups were supposed to remain distinct, alone, separate. He was never supposed to interfere. He was never supposed to make friends, or fall in love.

“I am sorry you feel that way, Dean. I did not realise you felt that way about me.” No wonder Dean never seemed to be happy to see him, unless he needed him. Not if they were never supposed to be friends to begin with.

With a heavy heart, the angel left them to their study. Dean was shaking his head in disgust, and Sam simply went back to his studying.

And Castiel? Castiel went to the only things that made sense any more. It wasn’t other angels, it wasn’t humans, and it wasn’t demons, either.


	51. Chapter 51

Dean and Sam worked seamlessly together to set up the table with the proper sigil and ingredients so they could summon the King of Hell. The older Hunter drug the blade of his knife against the palm of his hand, squeezing his blood into the bowl surrounded by lit candles.

“ _...et ad congregandum eos coram me_ ,” Sam invoked, lighting a match and tossing it into the bowl. It sparked up, completing the ritual, and inside the cabin, Crowley appeared.

“Hello, boys.” Crowley had suspected to be summoned by these morons… what he hadn’t expected was to see Castiel there as well - he gave the angel a small smile. He noticed the notebook lying open by Gigantor’s laptop and caught the word _Leviathan_. “So, that's what all the _rumble rumble_ was about. Who translated it for you?”

“Never mind. You gonna give us the blood or not?” Dean was not in the mood to play games with this asshole.

“Happily.” The demon looked past the Hunters ever so slightly, eyes on the angel, but darting back and forth between the brothers who clearly were unaware of Castiel’s presence. “But not quite yet. I'm all for chopping Dick, but I can't have you running around with a vial of my blood, now, can I? You know the sheer number of nefarious spells my enemies can use that blood for?”

“Well, then when?”

“Last. After you've got all the other components. Most difficult, the angel part, I'm assuming,” he smirked. “Given your role in their little apocalypse, I can't imagine the choirboys upstairs are wetting their vestments to do you – what's the word? – a solid. Unless, of course, you have an angel up your sleeve.”

“Well, that'd be convenient, but, uh, no.” Best if Crowley didn’t know they were communicating regularly with Cas, wasn’t it? At least Dean seemed to think so.

“Don't worry about it - we'll get the angel blood one way or another. We just need you to be ready next time we call,” Sam said, no outward show of the lie on his face.

Crowley scoffed. They really were shits. “Fine. Oh, here's a tip. I have it on good authority there's one Alpha still among us.”

“Whose authority?” Dean narrowed his eyes at the demon.

“ **Mine** ” Crowley laughed. “Wily character, that Alpha Vampire. Somehow made good his prison break before Cas went nuclear on the place.” The King of Hell was smirking yet again. Best to point the Winchesters in a direction, wind them up, and let them go. Keep your nose clean and all. Not that he couldn’t handle a little Alpha Vampire, the principal of the matter was _why should he_ when he could send in the Winchesters instead.

“And you know this how?”

“Keep your friends close, your enemies, blah blah. Needless to say, I keep tabs.” And not just on the Alpha. “He moves around quite a bit. But I have an inkling I know where to start the Easter-egg hunt. Happy trails.”

Not another word and Crowley was gone.

“Okay. Where, jackass?!” Dean was about to make a comment about how they shouldn’t be using intel from Crowley because it most likely came at a price when the table seemed to burst into flames. They died down just as quickly, leaving three words etched into the table.

“...’Hoople, North Dakota’...” the younger Hunter read aloud.

“Piece of paper would have worked!” Dean said into the air to Crowley, wherever the Hell that bastard was now.

Castiel looked at the brothers, standing invisible still. He had let himself be seen by Crowley. Crowley. The demon - his demon? - he _still_ wasn’t sure if he could say that… 

He furrowed his brow and disappeared again. He wasn’t ready to talk about this, about them working with the King. Why was it okay for them to work with him but Cas couldn’t even speak to him cordially? This was unfair. _You know what **was** fair?_ Cas thought… 

Bees. And he was gone again.

***

Castiel tried to ignore the name of the place, because the name was just a description, nothing more. Before people had come and stamped it with a _name_ , it had simply _been_. It had been a place with green and fertile ground, and the only descriptions had been the bee-dance of ‘here is pollen’, or the bird-map of ‘here is nest’, or the rabbit-feel of ‘this is home’. The boundaries had come later. 

Before the people, it had all been like this. But they had come with their boundary lines, and their territory claims, and their maps and their fences and what had _been_ was now something _else_. Still. It was pretty. He liked it. He liked it best like now, when the people were asleep and he could be alone with his thoughts. Alone on a wooden bench - trees felled for furniture, sitting like massacred warnings to their brethren - staring out at the world. 

No. Not alone. He was not alone, not now. He… had thought that maybe the demon would come, this time. That maybe he would follow. But he hadn’t been sure. He did not know him as well, now, as he had before. Things had changed.

 _They_ had changed. Everything had changed.

“Angel.” Crowley greeted Castiel with a sincere smile. He truly was beyond glad to see him again. Here… he had thought - hoped - the angel would return here. “May I join you?” he asked, nodding to the bench.

“There are no rules, I think, from benches. Of benches. On benches, or off.” He looked up at Crowley, trying to read his intent on his face. It was hard. Why was it so hard? It was like it was suddenly impossible to understand him, when before it had all been so clear. It was… frustrating. Yes, he meant. Yes.

“No, I don’t think there’s any rules regarding benches, either… I was being polite.” A reassuring smile as the demon sat down next to the angel - close, but not too close. “It’s beautiful here.” Next to the angel, yes, everything was beautiful once more. There was purpose and love and… memories that made him reel with happiness and shatter from the pain. But he’d take the pain if it meant he could sit with Cas once more. Just like he’d imagined doing oh so very many times over the last few months.

He looked over at the seraph, his smile still plastered across his face. _I missed you, angel._

“It is, isn’t it?” the angel agreed, looking only at the demon as he spoke. Of course Crowley would appreciate it, here. He and Castiel were more alike than many thought. Or - had thought - yes. He could see that Crowley was smiling, but he didn’t know _why_.

“When the people are gone, this place makes sense. I mean. It fulfils its purpose. Not the purpose of the people, but the purpose of God. Unless the people’s purpose is God’s purpose, but I suppose I will never know for sure. It is very calm, but I do not want the people not to come. I just want to come when people are not here.”

Crowley was not people. Crowley was Crowley. He did not mind the demon being here, he found, though it did hurt to look at him, so he stopped and stared at the distant sun. Very distant. Eight minutes for light to come. Dawn was wrong, really. Or right. He was not sure which.

The demon followed the angel’s gaze to the sun, wondering what on earth he could possibly be thinking since his thought pattern seemed slightly more difficult than usual to follow. 

“I know what you mean… I prefer to be here when people aren’t as well.” Just the two of us. The way it’s supposed to be. The way it was _meant_ to be. 

“You should help them, you know. The brothers. I know they do not like you, and you do not like them, but you should help them anyway. It is important, the thing they are doing. I have told them they should like you, but they do not want to listen. I assume you will not want to listen to me, either. It is not as if I can blame you - or them.” Castiel closed his eyes and let the sunlight dance across his eyelids, casting rotoscope images across his mind. 

“Of course I’m going to help them. I know it’s important… doesn’t mean I can’t let them dangle and worry a bit first. And don’t be ridiculous, angel. Why would I not want to listen to you?” Crowley asked. 

“Because…” No. He could not say. He swallowed down the words like a bitter pill that stuck in his craw, and sat heavy and leaden in his belly. Poison. Black sludge. He shuddered with the sense-memory, the recollection. 

“You are still the King, I see.”

“Of course I’m the King, I worked hard to keep my throne. I’m just gonna give it up like some hussie on prom night. But back to the other thing… Cas… why would you think I wouldn’t listen to you? Honestly?”

“Did you know that when a male bee reaches his climax, that he leaves behind several internal organs in the process, and then he dies?” Cas asked, turning to face him in all seriousness. “And when they sting, it rips out their insides? They do so much for the world. They pollinate the flowers, and they produce honey and beeswax. Of course, they do those things for themselves. It is people who use these things. And still they are hated. Why are they hated? They are not vicious. They are simply… bees.”

“Fascinating… I suppose people aren’t really fond of having a bee’s insides thrust into their flesh. Some are allergic and could die from one sting… it’s not that they hate the _bee_ so much as it is they hate being _stung_.” Crowley looked back out towards the sun. “I **really** missed you, Cas.”

“The bee only stings in self defence, though. It is not as if it wants to cause pain. Do people hate peanuts, too? Peanuts are not even mobile. It is… strange…”

Of course he’d missed the demon. He’d missed him so damn much it hurt. Being around him was an agony, because he knew - knew - that it wasn’t right. He knew that they were splintered and broken, and instead of fitting together perfectly, it dragged across the nerves to be so close. He was broken. He was jagged. 

“I wish I was a bee. I wish I only stung in self-defence. But people would still hate me, even if I was. I think people will always hate. It makes me sad. It was never supposed to be like that. It was only supposed to be love.”

“There’s _always_ going to be someone who hates you, ducky. It’s just the way it is. That’s why you have to keep the important people - the love - you gotta keep it close.”

"If you keep them close, it is easier to hurt them," the seraph pointed out. "The people you want to hurt the least. Not that you want to hurt anyone… but you want to hurt them even less. You would rather be hurt, than do hurt."

Did he understand? Could he? _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._ He knew he had done it, and he wished he had not. The demon would be better off without him. The Winchesters, too. Everyone would be. It was why he had not resisted Hester: he had been ready to die. Castiel stared at Crowley intently, trying to say what his words could not. 

Crowley reached his hand out towards the angel’s, fingers lightly touching the back of Castiel’s’ hand questioningly. “Cas… I-- I’m…” 

But the demon couldn’t bring himself to say the word… what if it was too much, if he scared him away? Friendship with the angel was better than nothing at all - if the angel didn’t want a relationship like they had shared in the past, of course. He thought he saw the same sentiment - _I’m sorry_ \- in the angel’s eyes… but… surely hippie, make-love-not-war-Cas would say he was sorry if that’s what he meant? 

Or perhaps the angel was just as scared as the demon was? Scared of things going horribly wrong again… of loss… 

The touch was barely there, but it stung all the same. Just fingers. Just fingers and the demon could break his heart all over again. Barely able to breathe, Cas turned his hand palm-up.

They had held hands before, of course, but always only in the privacy of their room. There was no one here to witness - by design - but it still felt somehow taboo to do this out in the open. He'd been afraid of their relationship, afraid to admit it. Now they had none and he knew his own reluctance had played their part.

Crowley interlaced his fingers with the angel’s. It was not the first time, but he had butterflies in his stomach as though it was. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t want this to stop. He moved his thumb hesitantly over the back of Castiel’s hand. He was afraid to speak, he was afraid to look at him and smile, afraid to tear his eyes from the spot they were focused on for fear of everything dissolving in some kind of daydream or illusion. He wanted this to last forever. He wanted _them_ to last forever - together.

Cas just held on, held on like he should have done before. Crowley's hand was warm. All of the demon was warm. Vibrant and alive. A flash of something - a vision sent to plague him, from a demon worse than any Hell had made - of the King motionless and seemingly dead at his feet. The Leviathan had made sure that memory haunted him, and even now it was difficult to believe it might not really be true. The angel held on tighter. He'd hurt him - badly.

The angel let go, but only to reach inside his trenchcoat and retrieve a small, ziplock bag. He presented the honey with eyes that begged him to understand that it was all he had. "Because I left my insides in you," he explained. "Please. Take this. I collected it myself." I never meant to sting you.

Crowley _did_ understand that was all the angel had to give. It meant more to him than anything in the world. His expression softened and his heart melted a bit. He reached out and took the bag with a smile. “Thank you, angel. Thank you _very_ much.” 

The demon carefully tucked the bag away inside his suit jacket and interlaced their fingers once more. 

They stayed there for a while, in silence. It was calming, but it both elated, terrified and soothed in equal measure. Castiel knew he was doing something incredibly foolish, and yet he could not stop himself. He wanted to. He wanted to stay. He wanted to keep their hands entwined, because it was a little symbol, a little cipher. In the distance, the sounds of the first visitors to the garden trickled down the path. Maybe there would be questions raised by two ‘men’ sitting side by side on a bench, holding hands. Not because they were men, but because they were trespassers. Transgressors. Cas stayed as long as he dared, but eventually he knew he had to go. They both had to go. 

He pulled his hand back carefully, and turned to face him for the first time in what felt like forever. 

“You were right, you know. You were right. You were stronger than me. You deserve better. I hope you find it, Crowley. It must exist.”

Before he could answer, the angel was gone.

No, no, no! Fucking angel. 

“Castiel… I don’t know if you can hear me, but you’re wrong. There’s no one, nothing, out there that’s better than you. Regardless of what you think, angel. I… I need you, Cas.”

The demon’s prayer was interrupted - the visitors were coming closer. He blipped away, back down to Hell. He averted his eyes from where the bed they so often had shared, stood and made his way over to his desk. He picked up some paperwork and tried to convince himself that he was actually paying attention to the words on the papers… that the tears that made their way down his face weren’t blurring his vision… and that the angel had not just wished him luck in a relationship that didn’t involve Castiel.

***

It had been on his To-Do List for awhile now, the meet and greet with the King of Hell. But being a successful billionaire didn’t exactly leave a lot of time to dabble in the dark arts. However, things were coming down to the wire now and with Edgar _losing his head_ , Dick figured he should probably _make_ time.

The final step of the spell was to set it afire, which he did, dropping the match into the bowl. There was a puff of smoke from the bowl and suddenly, the demon stood before him.

“Hello…” Crowley knew at once he’d been summoned into a trap. _Bollocks_ he looked up as the tray ceiling changed into a Devil’s Trap. “ _ **Dick**_.”

“Mr. Crowley, we have so much to talk about. Take a seat.” The Leviathan gestured to the chair closest to Crowley, inside the trap of course - couldn’t trust the little bitches. Not one bit. The demon sat in the chair as Dick poured out two drinks. “How do you take it?”

“Alcoholic. Shall we get on with this, then?” This was the fucking _last_ place he wanted to be.

The Leviathan stopped for just a moment. “Just extending the hand of hospitality.”

“To a mutation like me? Tired of swimming in hot garbage, are we?”

Oh, that had been hilarious. That and the look on the demon’s face when he mentioned being inside the angel. Dick laughed, looking back at Crowley. “That was a little colourful, huh? Well... didn't mean to offend.” The Leviathan handed a glass to Crowley.

 _You stupid piece of shit_. “Of course you did. So, if you're suddenly calling, I guess you're up to speed on the Winchesters, which means you intercepted the Prophet. And the Prophet told you that **my** blood is the key to everything.” Crowley downed the amber liquid in one go, licking his lips. It wasn’t _bad_ but it wasn’t great, either. “ You know what I like about you?”

“Lack of pretension?” Dick smirked.

“You're smarter than you look.” It physically pained him to speak that lie, but Cecily was right… better to appear in his good favour than not.

“Oh, well, now you're just flirting.” Dick teased, standing up to refill the demon’s glass.

“Not easy... to kill me, but doable. Especially for you lot. You kill angels. You can certainly wipe a demon off the board. And yet, here we are, negotiating like proper psychopaths.” Crowley narrowed his eyes at the monster.

“Well, I assume you have a vial of your blood stashed somewhere, and in the event of your death, it goes directly to Sam and Dean.” He handed the demon another drink.

“See? Smart assumption.” Crowley took the drink, leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees.

Dick grabbed his own drink and mimicked Crowley’s position. “One can't live on looks alone. Here's my offer.”

“All ears.”

“Full immunity for you and your constituency. I'm talking free-range grazing for all demonkind. I'm willing to cordon off, say, Canada. You and your crew can work your little deals, have your way with the locals…”

“ _All_ of Canada?” Crowley raised his eyebrows.

“Have it.”

“Fair… and down here?”

“America's ours. Your sales team stays out – period.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “That's not up for negotiation. We need America. They're so **fat**.”

Crowley nodded in agreement. “And in exchange?”

Dick sat his drink down on the silver tray next to his chair and pulled a vial from his pocket. “The blood of one sadly unimpressive demon in New Jersey. All I ask is that you give it to Frick and Frack, tell them it's yours, stand back, and let them come to me.”

Crowley took the vial from the Leviathan. The thought of double-crossing Sam and Dean was just so… very… _sweet_. “I can't deny I long to see those two digested once and for all.” He inspected the vial of blood, thinking over - or rather - pretending to think it over. He narrowed his eyes at the Leviathan. “ You have a deal. I suppose you want it in writing?”

“I don't kiss on the mouth.”

Thank fuck. “Your loss. I just so happen… to have a standard rider…” Crowley said, producing a large scroll from his inner jacket pockets. “Right here.”

Crowley flicked the scroll out, sending a trail of parchment across the room. Dick cringed as the demon pulled out a magnifying glass. “I do so like this part. Don't you?”


	52. Chapter 52

Dean did the summoning ritual for Crowley that was almost second nature, lighting the match and dropping it into the bowl. Flames shot up briefly and died down yet again. The Winchesters looked around the room for any sign of the demon.

“Is he trying to make a grand entrance or…?” the older Hunter asked, eyes still scanning the room.

“I don't know…” Sam was sure they’d done the spell right. It had never not worked in the past, so it made no sense that it hadn’t worked now.

“Son of a bitch. He's standing us up.”

“Well, we summoned him. Doesn't he kind of have to--”

“If Crowley wants to screw you, he'll screw you.” Dean walked away from the table and pulled his knife out again, wiping the blade on his sleeve.

“Or... he can't come 'cause something went wrong.” It was not like Crowley not to come when called. He’d even come when he’d been so souped up he’d been able to escape a Devil’s Trap. 

“Maybe.” Something was definitely up… Dean just didn’t know what. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Sam drew his gun, catching Dean’s eye.

“Maybe it's good news.” The older Winchester flashed a smile of sorts.

It was never good news. Sam peered through the hole in the door, then opened it to let Meg in. It was possibly the last person in the world he expected to find outside.

“You deal with him. I can't anymore.” Meg barged into the cabin.

Dean gave the demon a sarcastic smile. “You might wanna be more specific.”

“I was laying low halfway across the world when emo boy pops up out of nowhere and zaps me _right back here_.”

“Why?” Why would Cas bring her back here? Didn’t he know they were in the middle of something important?

“Go ask him. He was your boyfriend first.”

Dean gave a huff and walked outside to find Cas sitting in a car, listening to the radio.

“ _Look out on a summer's day_  
 _with eyes that know the darkness in my soul_  
 _Shadows on the hills_  
 _Sketch the trees_...”

Dean bent down, leaning on the open driver’s side window. “Hey, there.”

Castiel waved with a smile. He had brought Meg to help. Dean must be pleased with him.

“ _...and the daffodils_  
 _Catch the breeze and the winter chills..._ ”

The Hunter stood up straight, eyes closed. He shook his head with a sigh before leaning down into the window again.

“... _in colours on the snowy linen land…_ ”

“So, Cas, what's, uh, what's, uh, what’s the word?” Please make sense, please make sense, please make sense… 

“ _Now I understand…_ ”

“Well, Dean, I've been thinking,” Castiel started calmly. “Monkeys are so... clever, and they're sensible in that they leave the skins on the bananas that they eat. Is it really necessary to test cosmetics on them? I mean, how important is lipstick to you, Dean?” 

He did not think it was very important, but he was not sure. Dean did like ladies, after all. He liked pretty ladies. He was not sure if he was overly fond of the way they would paint their faces, because he had never thought to ask before. How had they known one another so long - saved one another’s lives, literally gone to Hell and back - and he did not know what sort of ladies Dean _truly_ liked?

“ _Perhaps they’ll listen now…_ ”

Well there went the thought of Cas making sense. Right out the window. He gripped the window sill a little tighter. “Not very… You want to come inside and, uh, tell us what's going on?”

“Alright,” he agreed, “but I think you already know the answer, and are just using me as a crutch. But if it makes you feel better I will indulge your latent insecurities.” With a blip, he was out of the car and inside the cabin, waiting for Dean to come, too.

“Damn it, Cas.” Dean trudged in after the angel, securing the door behind him.

“Now, you understand I don't participate in aggressive activity,” Cas explained to the group. He picked up the bone and sniffed it curiously. “Hmm. Sister Mary Constant. Good choice.”

“Why'd you go to Meg, Cas?” Dean asked, eyes narrowing at the angel sniffing the bones.

He did not want to answer that question, so he decided discretion was the better part of valour. “When I left, I wanted to observe the flowers – and fruit. Flowers come first, obviously. But I heard nothing from them.”

Sam realised that they were going to need to keep up the pushing, if they wanted answers. “You heard nothing from who?”

“The Garrison.”

Like a small child, you had to be painfully precise. Sam prompted again: “What happened to the Garrison?”

“Well, finally, the silence was deafening, so I went to look... to the home of the Prophet.” He had wanted to see his old comrades, his old friends. Inias was friendlier to him than Hester. Inias was nice. Hester had been nice, once, but not any more and now she was dead. “You know, Leviathan can kill angels. There's a reason why Father locked them in Purgatory. They're the piranha that would eat the whole aquarium. They're gone. The entire Garrison – dead. If there's anyone left at all, they're in hiding.”

It was sad. Very sad. Enough angels already dead, and now he was responsible for more, by proxy. Like Hester via Meg. Now the whole Garrison via Leviathan. Very, very sad.

Wait. What? Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. “Um, I'm sorry. If the angels are dead, where's Kevin?”

“I could steal them from their cages, the monkeys,” Cas mused. “But where would I put them all?” The monkeys did not like lipstick. It was redundant and unnecessary. It was not the natural order of things for a creature to be in a cage, or to colour itself beyond what God had given them, like peacocks and their tails, or chameleons and their scales.

“Hey!” the Hunter clapped his hands together, agitated. “ **Focus**. Is Kevin alive?”

“I don't want to fight,” Cas blurted out, again. Why couldn’t they understand?

“No, I'm not--” Dean stopped himself, glancing at Sam, his tongue darting out over his lips. He gave Cas a smile and spoke in a much calmer tone this time. “We're worried.”

Yes, so was Cas. “They took him. He's alive. I felt such responsibility, but it's in your hands now.” He’d told the Winchesters. He should have been there, really. With the Garrison. As protocol dictated. But he hadn’t, and now Kevin was gone… but the Winchesters could fix it. They could fix anything, right?

Meg had been listening intently and only just now did her eyes wander around the room, stopping on a bowl full of… something… 

Dean held up a hand to Cas. “Wait. Hold on a freaking minute.”

“I feel much better.” Sort of. Yes. No. Yes.

Meg interrupted the two awkward idiots. “Guys, what's all that?” she nodded at the bowl.

“We called Crowley,” Sam explained, off-hand.

The demon’s eyebrows raised. “You _what_?”

“Don't worry. He never showed.” Dean said nonchalantly.

“What do you mean never--”

“Do you see him anywhere? He stood us up.” The Hunter gestured to the Crowley-free cabin.

“Well, I'm sorry about that, but I'm outie. He could still sh–”

Crowley appeared, cutting Meg off mid-sentence. “ _Show up at any time_. Hello, boys. Sorry I'm late. This is an embarrassment of riches.” The King of Hell looked at the other demon in the room with a smirk. “Stay, won't you. There's really nowhere to run.”

Meg bolted towards the door, but Crowley blipped into her path, blocking the exit. “Don't even think of smoking out, pussycat. I've got eyes all over the place.”

Conflict, again. They were supposed to all get along. Cas was trying to make them all get along before one or more of them ended up dead. “Leave her be,” he - asked? Insisted?

“Castiel. Pleasure to see you, as always. Can’t say the same for your little demon friend.” He shot a warning glance at Meg before turning back to the Winchesters. “You rang? Something I can help with perhaps that the bird cannot?”

“We’ve got the other ingredients, Crowley. We were waiting for you to provide the last one,” Sam explained.

“You were stuck,” Cas jumped in, head to one side. “You did not come.” Not just because of the spell. He’d called, too. “We are late.”

“Typical,” Meg scoffed under her breath. “Just trying to make a grand entrance, Crowley? If you’re done being a douche, we could - sadly - use your help.”

Crowley’s head snapped back towards Meg. “You bore me. You know that? You have no sense of poetry.” Whore. The King looked down to spot a glass of whiskey and picked it up, sniffing the amber liquid. He scrunched his face up in disgust. What did he expect time after time again with the morons, anyway? That suddenly they’d become connoisseurs of the finer things?

He looked back towards the angel. “Dick had me in a Devil Trap. My hands were tied, sweetheart.”

Dean watched Crowley make insulting faces at his whiskey and frowned. “Look, did you come here to, uh, donkey-punch your old grudges,” a nod to Meg. “Or to help us end Dick? Pick a battle.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at the Hunter. “Meanwhile…” he said, reaching into his jacket. “A prezzie.” He held out a vial of blood to the Hunters.

“Hang on,” Sam said, as Dean reached out for the vial. “You said Dick had you trapped. So what did he offer you?”

“A fair deal. In exchange for giving you the wrong blood. It's demon, but is it mine?” Crowley paused with a smirk. 

“And why should we trust you?”

“Good God, don't. Never trust anyone. Best way to get yourself into a jam is being so damn trusting.”

Dean snatched the vial from Crowley’s hand. “Fine.”

Castiel, meanwhile, was glaring. Pacifist he might be, but completely without anger he was not. If Dick had trapped Crowley, then it stood to reason that Dick would not let Crowley go unless he was satisfied that he was no longer a danger. And if he understood correctly, that meant he would have wanted… assurances. A deal. Signed, sealed, delivered. 

Crowley had not told Dean it was really his blood. He had not confirmed. Cas could not tell behind the glass whose it was, but he was almost certain it did not belong to the King. The King had made a deal for his safety and his freedom. A deal that meant dooming the Winchesters.

 _A deal he had to have signed._ Yes, he might have come to the conclusion that he was no good for Crowley, but for him to… for him to… with _that monster_? The one who had almost killed him? Anyone but that. He would rather have seen Crowley bed Dean or Meg before… **him**. He was livid, and it was all he could do to bite his tongue. He was going to have to tell Sam and Dean when Crowley was gone, and find some way to get the blood himself.

“You’re welcome, by the way. Oh, and bonus, Meg, I'm gonna scoop you up, take you home, and roast you till you're jerky… but not... _yet_. Daddy will let you stay and play with Rocky and Bullwinkle for now. And as for the angel, well… the boys need Cas to get Dick. Don't they, Cas?”

No, that was… Cas shook his head. “Oh, I – I don't fight anymore.” Except… no. Yes. No. _He’d had his hands on the King._ Cas was torn.

Crowley smirked. “I wonder, however, if I might have a word with you, angel - in private?”

Sam glanced over at Cas, wanting to check he was okay with that. Cas caught the gesture and nodded. “The car is a good place,” he said, not even waiting to see if Dean objected before he blipped out to the car.

Dean raised a hand to object but Crowley was gone, too. He looked at Sam. “I don’t like the two of them in cahoots.”

“Sure do hope those leather seats clean up easily,” Meg smirked. “Might wanna grab some sanitising spray, too.”

Dean’s face went pale. “Don’t talk about that poor car like that.” The Hunter grabbed the glass Crowley had turned his nose up at and downed it.

***

Crowley sat in the driver’s seat of the car, running a hand over the steering wheel. It honestly wasn’t a bad looking car… but that was neither here nor there. More important things right now.

“Cas, I know what you’re thinking. Before you say _anything_ , I’ll have you know the deal I made with Roman was _not_ done properly. We did not seal it the way deals with the King should be sealed. To speak plainly: we did not have sex. We did draw up contract in writing, which, as I explained to you, cannot be done at my level. There’s no need to be angry.”

Castiel’s eyes were narrowed, and he scrutinised the demon’s face for any trace of subterfuge. He didn’t _want_ to contemplate that monster… _touching him_ , and the old, familiar jealousy flared at even the… thought. He’d said he wanted… but he… and…

“Why would something as old and powerful as a Leviathan agree to a non-binding deal?” he asked, instead. “He must be aware that to truly control you, he…” His lips were thin. “I understand that you ma-- will - but… **not him**.”

“You have to think about it, Cas. He’s not seen a crossroads demon rise above rank of-- well… crossroads demon. He has no idea. He knows how to seal a deal with your standard issue salesman - not the King,” he grinned. “That being said… even though it’s not exactly binding, it’s a matter of pride you see. I agreed to give that vial and only that vial of not my blood to the Winchesters, to tell them it was mine, and to let them go to Dick. There’s no clause about giving a vial of my blood to an angel.”

The demon smiled, pulled a second vial of blood from his pocket and handing it to Castiel. “Here you are. That one is actually mine. Don’t confuse the two vials, ducky. You’re gonna have to cut out all this pacifist garbage and stand up. I’m counting on you, angel.”

Cas felt… terrible. Why had he doubted the King? Why hadn’t he realised, that Crowley always had a plan? He’d said he would help, and though it had never been a pact, had never been an official agreement… he closed his fingers around the vial, and pulled it in close. He lifted it up and looked inside. Red. Red like the Sorry pieces. Like his smoke. Red was the colour of anger, but also of love. The two were so closely bound together that it was impossible to extricate them. In the vial he knew Crowley was giving him the power to do… a lot. To destroy him, potentially. Bind him. Curse him. He vanished it deep inside that coat, into a pocket that sat on the left, above his vessel’s own heart. He would not let it go to waste.

“I said I could not fight, and I meant it,” he pointed out, looking up again. “I did that before, and it nearly destroyed the world. Nearly destroyed… you.” But Dick was an evil of his own creation, and Cas knew that. He knew he was responsible. 

“But if I… if I don’t…”

Crowley was touched that the angel was worried about destroying him. “Much greater evil will befall the world. We all make mistakes. We all fail. The difference between someone who fails and someone who succeeds is that one of the two gets back up and tries again while the other throws in the towel. Failure is a part of success, Cas. I need you to get back up. You can’t give up, angel. You can’t.”

“How many times do I need to get up?” Cas asked. “I try. Every time I try. Every time it is worse. I do things worse. It **feels** worse. I don’t want to see what would happen if I did this all over again.”

Crowley reached over and clasped his hand around the angel’s. “As many as it takes. You think it was an easy road to get where I am today? I was nothing… I failed more times than I can count, but every time I did, I brushed off my suit, got up, and tried again. That’s what you gotta do, Cas. Pick yourself up, brush off what’s in the past. What’s done is done. We can’t change, we can’t make it better - or worse - we can only move forward. We can make things better here and now. We’re in a powerful position with all the right tools at our disposal. We need to seize the opportunity.”

He gave the seraph’s hand a squeeze. “I believe in you, angel.”

Cas looked down at their joined hands, and squeezed back. They’d accomplished a lot, even though it had all gone wrong in the end. An archangel. They’d taken down an archangel. Was the Leviathan all that much worse? Now they were working with the Winchesters - instead of against them - now they were all united against a common enemy… he let his head fall onto the demon’s shoulder, drinking in his confidence. He needed it. He was _scared_ , and all he wanted to do? Was run and hide.

But if he did that… if he… ran away… things like Kevin being captured happened. Things like his Garrison being wiped out. If he didn’t help, there was every chance that Sam, Dean, Meg and even Crowley might wind up dead.

_I’m scared. I’m scared of myself._

“What if I ruin everything, and you all die?” he asked, his voice soft and barely there. “I have hurt you all enough. I just… I need you all to be safe. I need you all to get along.” He ran his thumb over Crowley’s hand, lifting his head from the demon’s shoulder. “I need to… think about it.” 

A pause, and Cas looked at him, intently. “I need you to be safe. Please promise me you will be safe. I know I have no right to demand anything from you, but if we ever meant anything, then… then give me one last thing. Be happy, and be safe.”

A gentle kiss to the demon’s temple, and Cas was gone again.

The angel vanished - as expected - but Crowley could still feel his head on the demon's shoulder, those soft lips on his temple.

"Castiel... I promise I'll be as safe as I can... but I can't promise to be happy... not unless you're here with me."

He didn't want to go back in to the morons and fucking Meg. He had given his word to step back and let the Winchesters get Dick.

Binding or not, as he'd told Cas, it was a matter of pride. So, he blipped away, opened a new bottle of Craig, and waited.

***

“One thing’s for sure,” Dean said, toying with the notebook Kevin had scribbled in for them. “We only get one shot.”

Sam was working with the vial of blood from Crowley, the table filled with candles, bowls… everything you needed to kill an old one.

“This thing… don’t reload,” Dean said. Not like the Phoenix ash. They’d had plenty of that. 

“You think Crowley’s, uh…?”

“Double-crossing us?”

“Yeah.”

Dean huffed. “You've got to figure who he wants dead more – us or Dick.”

“Depends what Dick offered,” Sam pointed out. He was about to pour the last vial of blood out, when Castiel reappeared.

“He does want you dead,” the seraph agreed, “but he does not hold any affection for the Leviathan.” No. He was still angry with him for what had happened to Castiel himself, he knew. And he also knew he had to do this switch, and soon. The Vampire’s blood and the bone were all he needed.

“Y’know, I’m not sure anyone does,” Dean said, peering at Cas. “He say something we need to know?”

Cas shook his head. “The deal with Dick was not binding.”

“No kissy kissy?” Dean was almost laughing, but he caught sight of Castiel’s expression and shrugged. “Alright. I won’t pry. Still don’t know what you see in that douche, but whatever, man.”

“Crowley is a demon of his word, Dean. And he has done more to help me than many angels have. I understand that you are prejudiced against him, but I wish you would give him a chance to prove himself to you.”

All of which was enough distraction for the angel to perform the swap.

“Yeah, and look how well it worked out for you last time, Cas. Whatever. I’m not getting into this with you, alright? You wanna make dumb friends, you make dumb friends. Just don’t come crying to me when it bites you in the ass.”

The silence was uncomfortable, so Sam shifted noisily. “Well… I’m just gonna…” 

“Uh, there's no magic words – nothing. We just... just go.”

“All right, then.”

The younger brother poured the blood from the bowl onto the bone. And watched. And waited. And...

“Where's all the thunder and lightning?” Dean sounded… deflated.

“Uh... maybe it worked?”

Cas could not tell them the reason nothing had happened was because he’d stolen two of the vital ingredients.

“Awesome,” said Dean, but he sounded like it was anything but.

Cas vanished, and then in next to no time he was back, with two plates of sandwiches. He put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “So, none of this should cause you any ill effect. I went to a little farm in Normandy for the wheat and the lettuce and tomato and – and I thoroughly examined and comforted the pig before I... slaughtered it for the ham. Here.” He held out the plate. “You need your strength.”

Dean took a plate from the angel with a small nod. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas held out the other plate to Sam, with a hopeful expression. He knew they liked and needed food, and food was currently bad, and so this was the most thoughtful thing he could offer to them. It might, after all, be the last gift he could give.

“And Cas, why was Crowley so certain that you need to come with us?” Sam asked, instead of taking the plate.

“Crowley's wrong. I'll be waiting right here. But please – accept this sandwich as a gesture of solidarity.” It was a lie. He… was not going to be right here, but he wanted to preserve the element of surprise. So Dick did not expect him. Yes. And also so the Winchesters didn’t know his plan.


	53. Chapter 53

Dean sat, solemnly staring at Bobby’s flask. He wanted Bobby to rest in peace… after a life of hunting, didn’t Hunters deserve that much? It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for Bobby’s help… 

“Okay, thanks,” Sam said, ending the call. “She's fine. Checking out of the hospital tonight.”

“Well, that's positive,” Cas said, and offered the plate to Sam again. Maybe now he knew that maid Bobby had possessed would be okay, he would eat? He needed to eat. 

“Tell me again why you turned tail for some maid?” Meg paused as Castiel moved between them to place another sandwich in front of Dean. “You were right there.”

“Shut up, Meg.” Dean looked at the sandwich. _Another_ sandwich. Cas must be really worked up, overfeeding them like this. He gave the angel a nod of thanks anyway.

“Because Dick made more Dicks,” Sam explained, as Cas and Dean both turned to stare at him. “He must've kept a chunk of the original Dick Roman somewhere. Uh, they'd all have to touch it.”

Castiel went back to drying the dishes by hand. He did not need to, but he had to do something useful, and if he did it with angelic Grace it would be both cheating and over too soon.

Dean noticed Cas seemed to be extremely distracted… anxious… They all were, but shouldn’t they be used to the eve of saving the world by now? “Hey, shifty, what's your problem?”

There was not enough time in Dean’s finite lifespan to enumerate the angel’s problems. “Do we need a cat?” he asked instead. A kitten. To replace him. “Doesn't this place feel one species short?”

Dean just let that comment slide. “You got anything to say on the topic of Dicks? Crowley was pretty sure we needed your help.”

Castiel wondered if that was an innuendo on Crowley’s part, Dean’s part, or both. Difficult to say. He wondered why the Leviathan had picked such a ridiculous name. Did it appeal to his twisted sense of humour? Possibly. “I can't help,” he lied, as easily as breathing. It wasn’t so hard, because it was things he believed, deep down. “You understand? I can't. I destroyed... everything, and I will destroy everything again. Can we please just leave it at that?”

“No.” Dean stood. This was really getting out of control with Cas. “No, we can't.”

“Dean…” Sam cut in.

“We can't leave it. _You_ let these frigging things in. So you don't get to make a sandwich. You don't get a damned cat. You don’t get to make out in my car with the King of fucking Hell, you dick! Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas! **Clean up your mess**!”

Cas put down the dish very, very carefully. More conflict. He’d been nothing but nice to the Winchesters, been nothing but helpful and solicitous. He’d taken all the yelling and the abuse and the demands for help, and he’d politely asked for understanding, but… Dean was Dean. Dean was always going to be Dean. Part of him wanted to reach his hand into the Hunter’s gut and find his soul and _twist_ , but that was a part of him he did not like. Didn’t Dean realise? Didn’t he know that Castiel had tortured the Purgatory monster? That he’d defeated Raphael? Why did he talk to him like this? He had never meant for Dick to come into the world. Ever. It had been an accident.

So instead of the rage, he decided he needed space, instead. Space before the anger, the old-Cas got the better of him. “You know…” he trailed, “we should play Twister.” And he vanished without a single further word, before he said something he would regret.

Dean looked over at Sam. That did not go as expected - not at all.

Meg was leaning against the wall, holding a beer, watching the events unfold like some poorly written television show. “Nice. You scared off the Empire's only hope.”

Dean looked over at the demon with a snarl. “Meaning?”

These two morons… how did they _ever_ manage to get anything done without someone holding their hands every step of the way? “It occur to you every one of those things was in Cas? He knows them. He can see past the meatsuits.”

“So, he'll be able to spot the real... fake Dick Roman,” Sam surmised. Yeah. It made sense.

“Gold star, sugarpants.” The demon smiled at the younger Winchester. Certainly the smarter of the two. “Too bad he's Fruit Loops. You might've had a chance.”

Dean turned at the small noise behind him. He did not expect - though he guessed he probably should have - to see Cas on the floor, his own legs tangled underneath him on a Twister mat.

***

Dean had been pouring of the footage from the Sucro Corp security feed for hours now. This was a waste of time. “There's no real point in looking for a tell. They all downloaded Dick's brain. They've all got the same tells.”

“All right, then maybe the question is, what would the real Dick be doing?” Sam asked.

Frustrated with their stupidity, the ghost of what had once been Bobby Singer pinged into existence. “Is that the best you can do? Idjits.”

“Bobby,” Sam startled. “We didn't know if you’d, uh--”

“Well, you should've,” he groused. “You got the flask. Dumb. You should've burned it right off.”

“Bobby…” Dean’s voice was pleading, hoping he could understand why they hadn’t.

“I'm still jonesing to go back... grab some poor bastard, kamikaze 'em going after Dick. It's bad.” The ghost didn’t want to admit it, but it was true. And the brothers needed to know, he supposed. The bit of him that was still Bobby had to tell them.

An all-too-familiar voice came through the laptop speakers, Dick Roman’s sickeningly sweet smile taking up half the screen as he spoke. “America is for go-getters. Folks who get off their butts and make it happen.” He winked into the camera as Dean slammed the laptop shut.

“Let's be real,” Bobby went on, looking to the younger brother. “I damn near killed you. And that woman.”

“It wasn't your fault, Bobby – not really,” Sam insisted.

“Right. That's just what ghosts turn into. I really bet the farm I could outsmart that,” Bobby snarked.

The older Winchester looked at Bobby curiously. “So, what's it feel like?”

“What?” He peered at Dean. “Going vengeful? It's an itch you can't scratch out. Look... I'm done. Go get Dick. But don't do it 'cause you think it'll scratch the itch. Do it 'cause it's the job. And when it's your time... go.”

The brothers stared at him, so many things there, but not said. It was another chance to tell him things they should have done when he was alive, but somehow… somehow it still felt… too hard to say.

Bobby swallowed, a reflex from life that he didn’t need to do any more. “Here's to... running into you guys on the other side. Only... not too soon. All right?”

Dean sighed, tossing the flask onto the burning coals. He was close enough to the fire to feel the warmth from the flames, and he watched as the metal slowly melted. He wanted to say something profound, but what do you say in a moment like that? ‘Sorry we didn’t burn you up sooner’? Bobby would probably call him out for getting too sentimental. _Shut up, will ya?_ He could hear him clear as day. He looked up at Sammy, his heart heavy.

He settled for a silent _Thanks for everything, Bobby_.

Castiel watched, from further back, as the boys sent their adoptive father to his final rest. The ghost burned up from the inside, and he knew… he knew… Dick? Had to be stopped. No matter what the cost.

***

Most games were designed for more than one player. Games like Sorry, and Twister, and Uno. Solitaire was designed for one - the card version and the marble version. Uno was not really possible alone, and it was a stretch of the rules to play it like this. Cas wondered if he played it long enough would anyone would come over and join him? Card after card placed down. 

Dean watched the angel for a moment doing… whatever it was that he was doing… playing Solitaire with Uno cards? Whatever. “Cas, I need a wingman.”

“Dean…” Not again.

The Hunter held up a hand. “You don't want to jump into the jaws of death, that's... fine. How about we run a little errand?”

That seemed okay. Cas nodded, putting down his cards, and he laid a hand on the Hunter’s arm. “Where to?” he asked.

Dean told him, and it was a matter of moments to fly them to the barn. Inside there was a boat, and a vehicle covered in tarpaulin, its lines barely concealed by the fabric covering it.

Dean looked around the barn for a moment, then to Cas. “Thanks for the lift.”

“My pleasure,” Cas demured, as the Hunter started walking towards the car. “Dean…”

The Hunter turned back around. “Cas, we've been over it. I get it: you can't help.”

“If we attack Dick and fail, then you and Sam die heroically, correct?” the angel surmised, peering intently at him.

"I don't know... I guess." Dean shrugged.

“And at best, I die trying to fix my own stupid mistake. Or... I don't die – I'm brought back again. I see now. It's a punishment resurrection. It's worse every time.” Over and over again. Crowley had been wrong when he had thought Castiel was somehow ‘God’s favourite’. He was his least favourite.

The Hunter narrowed his eyes. "I'm sorry. Uh... we're talking about God crap, right?"

Castiel winced at the insult to his father, but he decided not to rise to the bait. “I'm not good luck, Dean,” he said instead.

"Yeah, but you know what? Bottom of the ninth, and you're the only guy left on the bench... sorry, but I'd rather have you, cursed or not. And anyway, nut up, all right? We're all cursed. I seem like good luck to you?"

Dean had hoped for a response after his pep talk - which was pretty good he thought - but was only met with angelic staring. "What?"

Cas just… stared. For longer than was socially acceptable. Head to one side, and.. “Well, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I detect a note of forgiveness.”

“Yeah, well, I'm probably gonna die tomorrow, so…”

If Dean could forgive him, and Sam already had, and Crowley too… it was as if - at last - all the pieces fell into place at once. Cas smiled. Okay. He’d meant to go in alone, to surprise Dick, but it was… impossible to resist Dean when he made that face. “Well, I'll go with you. And I'll do my best.”

The corners of the Winchester's lips twitched upward. "Thanks," he nodded.

“So... can I ask the plan?”

The Hunter smiled for real, then. "Well, according to Crowley, Dick knows we're coming, so we're gonna announce ourselves - _big_.”

Cas nodded. Big. They could do big. 

***

The more Crowley thought about it, the more he realised what exactly it was that Castiel was up to. It was a suicide mission. Sacrificing himself to try and right his wrongs.

Well... there was no way in Hell he'd let the angel do such a thing so he blipped to the cabin, hoping he wasn't too late. But the angel wasn't there... only the Moose. "Where's Squirrel and Feathers?"

Sam was surprised to see Crowley reappear. He'd been pretty clear that he disliked all of them except Castiel, but then he worked out why he was here. "They started out arranging step one of the plan. Cas will be back soon, I'm sure..."

That was unless he got flighty or distracted again. He wasn't reliable. Sam wasn't sure how they could keep him in line when it got tough. "Feel free to eat a sandwich. It's apparently his contribution to the war efforts."

Crowley smirked. Cas _would_ go all mother hen, wouldn't he?

"Thanks, but no thanks. What **is** the plan anyway?"

"No offence, Crowley, but what's doing stopping you from running back to tell Dick? I mean, it's gotta be something worth his time, doesn't it?"

"Why do you always assume the worst of me, Moose? You ever think that maybe, if the angel sees something worthwhile, perhaps you should look a little harder?"

“The last time he worked with you, he went kinda… whackjob on us all, told us all to worship him, exploded a bunch of dudes and then let the Leviathans out, Crowley. You ever think maybe that’s why people don’t like you so much?”

"So it's _my_ fault that he went all Godstiel on you? That was not my intention and he's a big boy, darling. He can make his own decisions. As for you, Jolly Green, how about you show some respect. I'm trying to help you morons out."

“Well… when we kill Dick and you don’t try to sell us down the river? I might.” Sam shrugged.

Which was when Cas and Dean arrived back in the cabin, and the angel burst into a smile the moment he saw the King. “You came back?”

_Only for you, angel_. “That I did. Now that the Three Musketeers are all present and accounted for, I’ve come to say: I volunteer as Tribute. Send me in to kill Dick, you lot keep the other mini-Dicks off my tail. How’s that sound?”

Cas blipped from Dean’s side to right in front of the demon in a blink of an eye. He was almost dancing from foot to foot. “That’s a terrible plan, Crowley,” he said. He was still trying not to grin.

“So terrible, in fact, that you can’t help but grin, eh?” He looked from the angel to the boys. “Well? What say you? Moose? Still scared I’m gonna sell you down the river?”

“It’s a distinct possibility,” Sam admitted.

Cas frowned at him. “No, Sam. No.” But then he turned back to the demon and - oh - damn it all to Hell. Launched himself at him to hug him as fiercely as a seraph could. He stopped just shy of cracking ribs.

“Whoa, okay, not cool on the PDAs,” Sam grumbled, shielding his eyes.

Crowley laughed, returning the hug with a smile. He didn’t give a fuck about the giant bitching Moose, or about Dean who was rolling his eyes and making noises of disgust. 

“Come on, guys. The fate of humanity is on the line we don’t have time for all this touchy-feely crap.”

The demon said nothing, only held the angel tightly in his arms for as long as the seraph dared. He breathed in the angel, eyes closed.

Dean cleared his throat loudly.

Cas sighed heavily, and then blipped over to Dean. “I’m sorry. Did you feel left out?” he asked, and grabbed him, too. It was possible he was feeling a bit of a bitch. Maybe.

“You know, I’m good down here,” Sam said, shaking his head. “You give mine to Dean.”

“Cas, what the Hell, man.” Dean clapped his hand on the angel’s arm once before pushing him off.

Crowley snickered at Cas. “If we’re all done exchanging… _pleasantries_... shall we discuss me being the one to go in and kill Dick? Do you two numb nuts have a plan or shall I do all the heavy lifting as per usual?”

Dean looked to the angel as if to double check it was okay to include Crowley in the plan. When the seraph said nothing to indicate otherwise, the Hunter looked back at the demon. “Alright… here’s the plan…”


	54. Chapter 54

The rumble of the Impala’s engine at full speed could be heard in the distance as it approached, blaring Steppenwolf’s ‘Born to Be Wild’ through her speakers. The tyres screeched against the pavement as it rounded the corner heading straight for the security gates of Sucro Corp.

“ _Get your motor runnin'_  
 _Head out on the highway_  
 _Lookin' for adventure_  
 _In whatever comes our way…_ ”

Baby crashed through the gates, sending chunks of wood flying the air as the back tyres skidded across the road.

“ _Yeah, darlin', go and make it happen_  
 _Take the world in a love embrace_  
 _Fire all your guns at once_  
 _And explode into space…_ ”

The Impala fish-tailed and headed straight into the blue and white Sucro Corp sign. The glass exploded, showering the black car as three Leviathans came out of the building, armed and ready to fight.

Crowley laughed as he slammed the Impala into park and got out. The Leviathans wasted no time in unloading their weapons into the demon, but he only smirked. He reached back into the car for a bottle of Power Clean and a machete. 

“Come and get it, boys!”

***

As Sam and Meg went off looking for Kevin, Dean and Castiel went the other way, looking for Dick. The first one they found was sitting at the head of the boardroom table. Dean gestured silently, but Castiel shook his head. It wasn’t the right one.

They charged through room after room, taking down any Leviathans who got too close. They found two more not-Dicks, and took down one and slipped past the next. The took the stairs up, making their way deeper into the building.

In the laboratory, Dick held up a container of creamer, examining it closely. “You know, I think this might end up the slickest little genocide in history.”

The Leviathan next to him was packing the creamers away into a box. He nodded to Dick. “Thank you, Sir.”

Dick smiled that too-sweet smile. “Just saying. I smell _promotion_.” He took a few steps across the room and drank the creamer.

A noise from behind startled Dick, and he turned to see what it was. On the floor was the other Leviathan - minus his head. Behind his dead body were one of the two Winchesters and - ah! Castiel. So the angel really was still knocking about, after all. The human was clutching at a machete, the angel holding a bottle of Power Clean. Of course.

“Little abrupt... but okay.” 

Dean put the machete back into its sheath aggressively, with the maximum amount of noise it was possible to accomplish.

Dick smiled at the angel. “Castiel. Good to see you again. Thanks for the ride into paradise.”

Castiel wanted to growl at him for that, but… the plan was sound. He had to make sure they didn’t deviate. Not now.

Still silent - with a look that would melt lesser beings - Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out the bone. It was honed down to a fine point, and stained with dried, stale blood. Three kinds of blood.

Dick looked at the bone and smirked. “And good on you! Pulling that together-- A-plus.”

“Oh, you don't think this'll work, do you? You trust that demon?” 

Dean waved the bone-knife around, a look of complete derision on his face that he didn’t even have to improvise. If it wasn’t for the fact they needed Crowley and Meg, it would have just been him, Sammy and Cas right now.

The Leviathan’s grin didn’t falter. This was the precise reason he had made so many twins. “You sure I'm even me, Dean?”

“No. But he is,” Dean said, head tilted to indicate the angel beside him, still toting the bottle of cleaner. “See, here's the thing when dealing with Crowley – he will always find a way to bone you.”

Cas had to bite his tongue not to leap to Crowley’s defence, because it would give the game away. Also because he was _almost_ certain that was a sexual reference and it was **really** not for Dean to be talking about. Especially around… _that thing_ , which knew full well what his relationship with the demon had been. He started to split off from Dean, trying not to be too obvious about it.

_Demons_. Hadn’t he protected himself with the contract though? “This meeting's over.”

Crowley appeared with a smirk. “Meeting’s over when _I_ say it’s over, sweetheart.”

Dick moved to grab Crowley by the jacket, but the demon blipped to the other side of the room. 

“Getting a little lethargic in your old age?” Crowley grinned.

Dick all but growled at the demon. “Did you really think you could trump me?”

Dean took that as all the distraction he needed, charging up to the Leviathan and sinking the bone into his chest. “Honestly? You’re too full of yourself, you bag of dicks.”

The Leviathan gasped, then laughed. He pulled the bone out before snapping it in two. “Nice try.”

Dean frowned, looking over to Crowley with absolute betrayal on his face. After all that bull he’d spouted? He’d gone and played them, right to the end? He took a half-step back, not sure what to try next. This was the plan, after all. Demons running interference, and him ganking the dick. Crowley had backed down when Dean had insisted he be the one to do it, and now he could see why...

Which was when Castiel struck. He rushed at the gloating monster, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back. Down his right sleeve and into his hand went the real weapon, and then it was thrust straight into Dick’s neck, making him stagger and utter the most ungodly noise they’d heard in a long time.

Sam picked the right moment to run in - alone, with no sight of Meg or Kevin - looking around at the mess, and the angel still stabbing the Leviathan. “You did it?”

“Sonofabitch, we did,” Dean agreed.

Dick’s human face changed into the oversized mouth, razor sharp teeth catching the light as he roared in pain. He morphed back into human form, the black ichor running from his nose and mouth. His heartbeat became so loud that everyone in the room could hear it as waves of energy seemed to pulse from his chest.

Castiel wanted to run, to fly, to anything… but the power vibrating up the bone was too strong to resist. It arced up and down his arm, and his blue eyes went wide with fear, looking straight at Crowley. He didn’t want to die. Not now. Maybe before he had, but not now. He shook his head just once. _I can’t_ , his expression said. _Go_.

No… _NO_. Crowley would **not** leave the angel again at the mercy of Dick. He looked at Sam and Dean. “Run.” The Winchesters didn’t move. “ **Run**!” But the two stayed put. “Oh, bloody Hell.” Crowley snapped Sam and Dean to safety - he knew if he wasn’t going to get himself out of the blast radius, then the next thing Cas would want was for those two idiots to be safe and sound out of harm’s way.

“I will not leave you again.” The demon grabbed Castiel’s wrist, pulling, but the closer his hand moved to the bone, the less juice the King of Hell had. He was trying to improvise a Plan B just as all the energy Dick was radiating seemed to be sucked back into his meatsuit. For a brief moment, a split second, Crowley thought maybe they were going to make it and then: **black**.

***

Dean looked around, startled by the sudden change of scenery. They were outside of Dick’s building now. “What the Hell? Where’s Meg?”

“Gone,” Sam said, frowning and looking around. No more Leviathans right now, but that could change at any minute. “Put a knife to Kevin’s throat, said she needed an insurance policy against Crowley… and left.”

“--What?” Dean looked at Sam in disbelief. “You let her get away? Did you not have the demon knife?”

“...dude, just.. no. I tried, man. I did.” Sam shrugged heavily in defeat. “What about you? The Hell did Crowley send us out for? Should we go back in and find Cas?”

“I-- I dunno, Dick started doin’ something weird and I don’t think Cas could let go of that bone. We should probably go find them… make sure they’re alright.” But a nagging feeling deep in his gut told him _they weren’t_.

“Lemme grab some more Power Clean,” Sam said. “The last run wiped me clean out.”

Dean nodded, and headed back to the junker. He didn’t even want to consider the mess that was Baby. He was sure the damned demon wouldn’t have treated her well.

***

Cas sat up. Was he dead? He wasn’t sure. He’d died three times, but he never actually remembered being dead, only the time after. It was conceivable that in death he was conscious, but that he later forgot it. It was a sobering thought, and not one he liked. He did not enjoy the idea that there were parts of his life he _still_ could not remember. He’d forgotten way too much already. 

It was… dark. Very dark. He remembered this place, now. He’d been here once before, but then it hadn’t been real. Then it had been a construct, a prison designed to keep him trapped in his own mind by the thieves who stole his vessel from under him. **Purgatory**. Purgatory with its growling bushes, and its sharp and jagged trees.

He ached. Angels did not really experience pain or discomfort the way humans did, he knew… but here? Here he ached. His hand felt sore from the bone, but when he looked around, his weapon was gone.

Weapon. Then it hit him. _Dick_. He was here because he’d killed Dick. He’d not been able to escape, and the monster must have dragged him down, too. His other hand didn’t hurt, but he remembered something in that, too. Demon. King. **Crowley**. He’d come to help them. He’d come to help them, and he remembered he’d been there, and…

Past the ache in his bones, the pounding in his head and the strange dry, acrid taste in his mouth, he pushed to his feet and stumbled through the dank leaves underfoot, searching. Where was he? He wanted to call out, but fear clutched his chest and made him mute. He searched for what felt like an age before he found the demon lying where he’d fallen. He was twisted in an awkward position, and he couldn’t see any sign of movement. Cas threw himself to his knees, grabbing the demon by the arm and shaking him _hard_.

“Crowley… Crowley!” His voice croaked, but he forced it out. “You stupid demon, why didn’t you run? Wake up… **wake up**!”

There was a loud ringing in the demon’s ears that faded into… was that… _Castiel_... “Cas!” 

Crowley sat up, ignoring the **ache** in his body. He looked around at the surroundings and his heart sank. “Is this… is this where I think it is?”

The angel didn’t let go of his arm, needing… needing to keep that contact. He nodded, glumly. “I think so. I expect that when the Leviathan died… he brought us with him.” And then his eyes narrowed. “You should not be here.”

“Neither should you, angel. But here we are.” Crowley looked up at the grey sky, barely visible through the trees that looked more dead than alive. “Think the spell would work in reverse? Get us out?”

“...with… what?” Cas asked. “We’d need a virgin, and neither of us are. And an eclipse, and do we even know if there’s a moon?” He was still frowning, though. “I mean it, demon. You… you were not supposed to follow me. Now both of us are here.” And that’s worse than just me. 

“Angel…” Crowley reached out to rub his thumb across Castiel’s cheek. “I’m never letting you do something stupid on your own again. If you’re going to do something foolish, I’m going to be right by your side doing it with you. I’m not-- I can’t lose you again, Cas. I can’t.” 

Cas caught hold of his hand, suppressing a smile. Stupid, stupid King of Hell. This was, perhaps, even more idiotic than his own usual fuckups. Crowley had to know what he was doing, whereas Cas? Cas just fell from one accident to the next. “You’re going to regret that, before long. I do a lot of foolish things.” 

They were just… doomed, weren’t they? Doomed to keep fucking up together. But they’d tried alone, and alone had not been fun, and now they were… here… and God only knew how they got out, and… _idiotic demon_. “I didn’t leave on purpose, you know,” he started to explain, but then… there was a low growl, and something glinting red in the distance. _Monsters_. “...perhaps we could have this discussion on the move?”

“Good idea,” the demon said, climbing to his feet. He brushed off his suit - though it did _no_ good - as they started moving away from the growling. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose. But it-- it’s over and done with now. We have bigger problems on our plate. You’re giving off a very, very bright light… I assume mine is not that bright - if it’s a light at all?”

Cas’ eyes narrowed, and his head tilted to one side. “You…” It was strange. Sort of there and not. Like if he didn’t look directly at him, there was this bright… halo? But if he looked directly at him, it was more like a haze. “I don’t know how to describe it, but you… stand out.” He wasn’t sure what that meant. “We should arm ourselves. If my memory serves me correctly, there is every chance we’re about to be beset with rather a lot of things we dispatched ourselves…”

Crowley mimicked the angel’s head tilt, also narrowing his eyes. _Stand out_? Didn’t all the monsters? He shrugged it off, nodding in agreement. He scoured the ground for something - anything - that could be used as a weapon. There were sticks… the occasional rock… Ah! A flick of his wrist, and yes, he did still have his angel blade after all. Thank Heaven for small mercies. With a grim little smile, his eyes met the angel’s. 

_How are we ever going to make it out of this?_


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley had no idea how long they’d been running, but they finally seemed to be clear of whatever they were being chased by - this time. He leaned a hand against a tree to catch his breath, looking around them to be sure they hadn’t run straight into anything else nasty. 

“There’s got to be a better way to do this. We should be looking for a way out, not running every five minutes. Aren’t there natives? Like Visyak? Do you think they would know?” Crowley wasn’t even sure if any of this was an actual possibility, he just knew they couldn’t run like this forever. They would need to rest for one - neither of them would be in any position to kill if all they did was move, move, move. 

“...we could try asking them, but if there was a way out, surely they would use it?” Castiel was a little less breathless, too, but more worrying was that this was taking its toll on his vessel. He didn’t have the same vigour that he did on Earth, here, and the endless, monotonous running was… draining emotionally as well as physically.

The demon at the angel as his breaths finally calmed and his heart rate returned to something of a more normal pace for his meatsuit. “When I said I wanted to spend forever with you, just for the record, I didn’t mean in Purgatory,” he said, giving a dry chuckle.

Cas offered a weak smile. “I realise that. I did try to warn you to leave, but you are stubborn, Crowley. And now - after it took us two years to open the door… now we know this place better than anyone. Perhaps it’s our punishment?”

“Well, you’ll just have to get used to my stubbornness because I don’t intend to leave you alone - most certainly not while you’re in peril,” Crowley said, waving that off at once.

He looked around once more, checking for anything getting too close. His eyes landed back on the angel and he couldn’t help but smile. He moved closer, placing a hand on Castiel’s cheek. When the seraph didn’t move to stop him, he leaned forward and gently pressed their lips together. It was a short kiss, but the demon wanted to test the waters. He looked up at Cas, hoping he’d not made a wrong move.

No, Cas thought, there didn’t seem to be an easy way to hide from Crowley. Back on Earth, or in Hell, he’d been able to flap his wings and get away… but even that hadn’t been enough. He’d chased him all the way to _Perth_. And here? Here he could only run as far and fast as his legs would carry him. And what was the point? They were stronger together, as they’d always said. Plus, Cas no longer wanted to be alone. If they were both doomed to this place… at least they weren’t alone.

The kiss was soft, without any heat behind it, but it still made the angel’s stomach skip all over again. He’d missed their kisses. He’d missed everything about the demon. Cas put his hand over Crowley’s, and avoided his eyes… opting, instead, to rest his forehead to the demon’s. 

“I missed you,” he murmured. “Even when I didn’t know who you were any more, I… missed you. Your voice. Your hands. I closed my eyes and I could feel you, somewhere, and I knew… I knew I was incomplete, but I never understood how.” He ran his thumb over the back of the demon’s hand, feeling the small bones glide under his touch. “Your taste is atrocious, Crowley, but I don’t know how to make you see that.”

Crowley beamed as Cas spoke about missing him. Another worried glance - damn but keeping ahead of the monsters was tiring - before kissing his angel again, slowly. He just needed to. Needed the angel’s lips against his own. Much, much too long since he’d been able to do that.

"Leave me to worry about my taste, kitten. I love you so much." The demon rested his forehead against the angel’s once more. "I'm sorry I let you get dragged into this. _You're_ the one who shouldn't be here... and there's no sense in arguing with me. We're both here, now, for right or wrong. We've both got to find a way out. I think our best bet is to find a native or someone who knows a thing or two about the lore. We can crack anyone together, so if anyone knows how to get out of here, we'll find out about it."

The King wasn’t angry with him, but Cas wasn’t sure why. He’d abandoned him, forgotten him (not completely) and chosen fixing Sam over seeing him… but Crowley wasn’t annoyed? He should be. Dean had been angry with him, even if Sam hadn’t. He wasn’t sure how to handle this information at all. 

Knowing he was safe, he let his eyes close and he put a hand on Crowley’s waist. He didn’t dare do much, because after so long apart… he wasn’t sure he remembered how to act. What to do. How to _be_. He didn’t want to rush anything, and he didn’t want to be the angel who forced his affections on Crowley again. No. “If it’s possible to escape this place, I am certain you can find it. You truly are remarkable, my King. It is no wonder you… it is no wonder you took over Hell.” 

A half step back, but still close. “I regret many things we did together… but you should know I never regretted _you_. Just the things I did which I should not have. Not our deal and not… **us**.”

Crowley sighed, a smile still on his face. "I have my own share of regrets over the last couple of years, but never you. Cas... when I thought... when I couldn't find you..." The thought of it even now, with the angel right there, was heartbreaking. He pulled the angel into another hug.

"I missed you."

“I did not mean to worry you. When I first came back, I did not know who I was. And then I was helping Sam, or I… would have…” But then it was probably enough talk about past regrets and mistakes, so Castiel nodded.

One more quick kiss (the angel was like catnip) and he stood facing Castiel once more. "We need one captive... one at a time until someone knows something. But first I think one of us should keep watch while the other rests, yes?"

“I agree, we should not try to hunt for captives until we have both rested. This place is… tiring. If you like, I will take the first watch. I will keep you safe, and then I will rest… and then we will go…” a smile, “ _hunting_.”

For monsters. Like they had before, in the old days of their early partnership.

***

Cecily knew that Crowley had gone to help the angel and the Hunters take down the Leviathans, because that was the kind of thing he’d do. She’d seen the reports of the attack on Sucro Corp’s head office, and she’d seen the CCTV footage of an Impala and what the news was dubbing the ‘Squeaky Clean Serial Killers’. They’d caught sight of the machetes and bottles of cleaning liquids and she had barely even needed to check her alerts because it was all over the press.

She smiled when she watched him dispatch huge swathes of the chompers with ease. There was speculation about if the security guards were firing blanks because it was obvious he was hit, but they cut before it got to the really juicy bits with him killing the monsters.

At first she thought maybe he was just off celebrating with the angel. After all, she’d seen _him_ there, too, and if Crowley was helping out the Winchesters then there was every chance he’d reunited with his boyf, right? And she didn’t want to get in the way of all the angry make-up sex they were bound to be having.

But then he didn’t show the next day. Or the next. And she started to wonder why Crowley was ignoring her calls again. Last time something like this had happened, the Winchesters and Meg had done some awful shit to him. She started to worry. He’d _helped_ the Hunters, so they must have… they wouldn’t turn on him, would they? Or would they? Or had he… had one of the Leviathans caught up with him? 

Cecily hacked into the Sucro Corp’s server, and pulled all their CCTV footage, the stuff they hadn’t let the press see… probably not the law enforcement agencies, either, considering how hard it was to get it. Charlie’s back doors were invaluable for that. The video clearly showed Dean, Castiel, Sam **and** Crowley entering, but no one ever came out the door. And then the brothers somehow appeared on a camera outside, before they went back in again… and came out alone.

They didn’t bring out bodies. Angels left a corpse, and so did demons. They might not have bothered with Crowley’s, but they would have for the angel, wouldn’t they? And none of the records of the employees found dead matched their descriptions. There was nothing for it: she was going to have to ask the two brothers what the Hell was going on.

***

Cecily knocked on the cabin door. In a couple moments, Dean peered out from behind the door, no doubt with his gun hidden and ready to fire through the door if needed.

Dean said nothing, only raised his eyebrows impatiently.

"Hi. I'm Cecily. Before you freak out, I totes come in peace. I work for Crowley and he's been missing for a couple days. If there's anyone other than me who could find him, it's you two... have you heard from him?" she asked hopefully, making no attempt to hide the worry in her voice.

“Oh, great. More demons,” Dean huffed. “Yeah… no. We’re not buying any Avon, lady. Why don’t you just go right on back to Hell before I change my mind and get my knife out?”

"Look. Despite what you may think of him, Crowley values and appreciates you two. And he's right to. You guys are super impressive and I need your help to find him. Do you have any idea how bad it's gonna get in Hell if he doesn't come back? And it's only gonna work its way back up here. The last thing you want is demons running around without fear of consequences. You do know Meg's been rallying the Lucifer loyalists, right? You do not want that regime change, trust me."

“Yeah, well, Meg ain’t high on our Christmas Card list either, after that stunt she pulled on us.” Dean narrowed his eyes at her. “Wait. How could we even be sure you aren’t working for her, and pumping us for info?”

“Don’t you think Meg would send more than one demon if she wanted to take us in, Dean?” Sam called out. 

“Whatever. Advance scout.”

“We could put a Trap down…”

Dean turned back to the demon. “You want a pow-wow, that’s our terms. In a trap til it’s over. Capiche?”

“If you wanna tie me up, Dean just ask," she smirked. "But yes, sounds reasonable."

The door slammed in her face, and from behind there was the sound of hasty scratching on the floor. Shortly after, the door was opened. Dean had the knife in one hand, and he waved her towards the Trap, still wordless. Sam was sitting backwards on a chair, watching. 

Cecily bit her tongue to keep from snarking at Dean and walked into the trap. "Better?"

Dean nodded in agreement, then went to sit in the other chair.

“So, first off,” Sam said, obviously playing Good Hunter, “who are you, and how do we know who you actually work for?”

“Well. I’m Cecily… one of Crowley’s, and before all this mess with the dicks, the last time you saw Crowley the topic of conversation was all about weddings and deals. Does that suffice?”

Sam looked to Dean, and they exchanged a wordless conversation that went something along the lines of ‘Yeah that’s true...’ ‘Did Meg know?’ ‘Not that I know of...’ ‘Guess she’s kosher then.’

The brothers looked back to the demon. 

“How much do you know?” Sam asked.

“I know everything that Crowley knows, which is _quite a bit_.”

“Alright. Well. We all went in to try and cut the Leviathans off at the source, and then Castiel attacked Dick Roman. He bugged the Hell out, Crowley sent us flying and then… bam.” A shrug.

“Bam, you were back outside, yeah. But what happened to Castiel and Crowley? Did you find anything? It was hard to see on the security footage with all that black… _ick_ everywhere…”

“Nope,” Dean cut in. “We went back in, and nothing. Not a button, buckle or anything. Coulda gone boom with the dick, or… your guess is as good as ours.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “There were no - uh - wings on the floor, but… it was impossible to tell if… if they went up in smoke too. But we’ve not heard from either of them, and summoning and prayer hasn’t worked, so I guess…?”

Cecily bit her lip, looking down at the floor. “Well… no wings is… good…” The demon looked back up at the brothers. “It’s possible that they may have…” But she wasn’t exactly sure what she was trying to say. A million thoughts ran through her mind. Obviously they weren’t in Hell… she doubted Crowley could get into Heaven… there was always Purgatory, but… 

Cecily shook her head. “Purgatory,” she whispered.

Dean shrugged again. “Guess so. Which means they’re gone, and that’s it. So why are you here?”

“That’s it? Really? You’re just giving up so easily?” Cecily was furious. There _had _to be some way to help. “You do realise this was my last resort, coming to you two? If anyone is capable of finding them and rescuing them, it’s the three of us.”__

__“Yeah, but if he’s in Purgatory? You saw what happened _last_ time someone opened **that** door. It wasn’t a good idea last time, and it’s even worse this time. Took us damn near all we had to put that dick back, ain’t no way we want him free again.” Dean examined the knife’s blade, running the tip under his fingernails. “No can do, Preppy. I miss Cas as much as the next guy, but…”_ _

__“...Dean’s right,” Sam added. “And it’s best if you drop it, too.”_ _

__“There’s got to be a back way in - or some other way in. You can’t just give up on them! Do you have _any_ idea how bad it’s gonna get if we don’t get Crowley back in charge?”_ _

__“Why the Hell - no pun intended - should we care who’s in charge down below? Case you haven’t noticed, we’re **Hunters**.” Dean nodded at the Trap below her feet. “We shoulda done something the last time someone said they were gonna open that door. So if you’re set on doing it, tell us now, ‘cause we’ll make sure you don’t. And we can either do it the easy way, or the hard way…”_ _

__Cecily held her hands up. “Oh, no… _no way_. I have **no** interest in opening that thing - I’m just saying… there’s gotta be another way. And you should care about who’s in charge in Hell because it will _directly_ affect you and the rest of humanity. You have to look at the big picture here, boys.”_ _

__“From where I’m sitting? One less douchebag in Hell is pretty good going. Crowley ain’t done nothing for us. So… why don’t you just drop the whole thing, and mosey on back downstairs, and carry on doing whatever it is you’re doing… ‘cause I can’t see a reason why I don’t just stick you right now.”_ _

__Cecily rolled her eyes. “Just let me go and consider it one last favour for the angel that saved your ass. It would make Crowley happy, which would make Castiel happy. I’ll leave you be - you have my word.”_ _

__“Fine. But we ever see you again?” The knife was drawn in front of his throat, in a very clear gesture. And when she nodded, Dean pushed up and scuffed his toe through the sigil below her feet._ _

__Cecily left the cabin, letting the door slam behind her. _Stupid little brats_. Doing this without their help would be difficult, but she would find a way… she had to. Besides, maybe if she’d put the thought in their heads, they’d continue to look and she could just keep tabs on them like she’d been doing._ _


	56. Chapter 56

Scotty came to Crowley’s office like Cecily asked, wondering what the Hell was up. The Boss had been missing for some days now, and Cecily had been getting increasingly frantic - even to the point of saying she would ask the _Hunters_ for intel - and even though he’d told her it wasn’t safe, and that she shouldn’t go alone, and any number of other things, she’d brushed it all off as - as what? Macho posturing? He wanted to keep her safe. That was all.

But it felt weird being called to the King’s office by her. And it was Cecily who called, not Crowley. He knew she did plenty of work for him, but she certainly wasn’t his secretary. Which meant it was not likely to be some delegation or career development going on. He wasn’t sure **what** to think of it, as he arrived and found her waiting.

Cecily had been pacing around Crowley’s office for the better part of two hours. Something had to be done, _someone_ had to step up - and it sure as Hell wasn’t her. The only other person she could think of that she trusted enough was…

“Oh good, you’re here. Okay. So… I was thinking and like, I don’t know when Crowley’s coming back, but we def need someone in charge before things get wacky. Seeing as Crowley was the last King of the Crossroads and now he’s head honcho, it only seems natural that if he were going to name a successor, it’d be you, right? So - and hear me out before you say anything - I was thinking, we spin this story that the King is taking a little vacay and in his absence, you are his chosen replacement. That way, we can keep things just as they were for him and there’s not too many questions… what do you say? Wanna play King?” 

Scotty had _not_ been expecting that. King? Of Hell? Him? Of course it was tempting - what demon wouldn’t want to jump at the chance? - but his time working under Crowley had taught him a little more circumspection than most. “You think he’d be happy we did that? I mean… he was pretty mad at me last time I used my initiative. I don’t really want to end up on the naughty list at Christmas…”

But... King. **King**. King Scotius. It had a nice ring to it, didn’t it? And he knew he could lead. He’d been leading up the Crossroads for years now. “Why wouldn’t _you_ want it? You’re kind of his protege, aren’t you? Doesn’t it make as much sense for you to do it as me?” 

“Oh, sweetie… I’m hands-off - unless you’re in my bed,” she winked. “But _me_? Queen of Hell? No, thank you. I would much rather run things behind the camera. As for Crowley, don’t worry about him. I’ll take full responsibility for the entire plan. Besides, you think he’d want some Luci loyalist jumping up and yoinking the throne out from under him? No way.”

Cecily grabbed Scotty’s hand and walked him around to the other side of the desk and guided him into Crowley’s chair. She stood behind him, snaking her hands over his shoulder and down his chest. Then she leaned close to his ear and whispered, “King Scotius… sounds sexy, right?”

Well, it was no secret that Cecily had a thing for demons in this chair, Scotty thought, sliding his hands over the desk-mat that protected the fine mahogany from scratches. He tilted his head to one side, hiding a little laugh at the tickly breath on his neck.

“I suppose I could keep his seat warm. Would you like me to be your ruler?” He found her hand, lifted it to his lips… but then did not kiss, turning to glance at her. “Do I get all the trappings of being the boss?”

“That depends… do I still get to tie you up whenever I want?” she grinned.

He narrowed his eyes then spun the chair around, grabbing hold of her so she ended up sitting sideways on his lap. “Depends… would you leave me tied up this time? Because you know Kings don’t like being left waiting…”

“I might leave you tied up for a little bit… but I’d stay in the room this time.” She kissed his cheek softly. “Is that a yes, then… _my King_?”

“I’d say as long as there’s a happy ending, then who am I to resist… but if you won’t be my Queen, will you at least be my consort?”

“Kind of the same thing, isn’t it? With a less fancy title?” she smiled. “But of course.” Cecily leaned forward to press her lips against his as she moved a hand up into his hair.

“You think Hell can manage without a King in situ for… oh… a couple hours more, or should we move straight to the public announcement?” he asked, a hand on her knee that threatened at the hem of her skirt, teasing it higher just a fraction before slipping underneath. “Maybe a _few_ hours?”

“They can _totes_ manage.” She spread her legs a bit as his hand crept up her thigh. “What did you have in mind to occupy us for _hours_ , my King?”

Scotty reached up to close his lips over her earlobe and tug. "You don't have an idea? What I could do to keep your mind off work?" Things like use the pad of one finger to drag over the soft fabric of her panties, wondering how interested she already was. After all, she _did_ like power. "I like that title on your lips. I wonder what you'd sound like screaming it..."

"Of course, but I just wanted to hear what you had to say on the subject." She hummed happily as he moved his finger across her panties, moving her hips slightly to encourage him. "Guess you'll have to make scream and find out, won't you?"

"Well. First I was going to just use one finger here..." rubbing where he could feel the gap between her lips through the cotton, "until you were so wet I could smell you. Then I thought I could clean my mess up with my tongue until your legs shake. Lick you over and over until you hated my mouth..."

Cecily whimpered, pushing against his finger as best she could in that position. “Keep your promises and I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to hate that mouth of yours, _my King_.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I might be able to tease you so much you curse it, and pray for something else between your legs instead…” A scratch of his nail, making her shudder. “Should I put you on my desk, then? And write my first pronouncement between your thighs?”

The corner of her lip rose into a smirk. “No… I wanna sit in your chair, your Majesty.” She stood up, grabbing his hand and pulling him up so she could sit down in the King’s chair, legs slightly parted. She bit her lip and smiled, pulling him down for another kiss.

The new King put one hand on the back of the chair for purchase, bending to her lips as his right hand went between her legs again to tease at her other lips. She was starting to react quite obviously, and he pushed the fabric to one side, to better feel her slickness. He dipped his middle finger in, making it wet enough to rub circles over her clit. “Thought you didn’t want to be Queen,” he snorted, pressing almost hard enough to hurt. “You just wanna be the power behind the throne? Push me to my knees in private, and bow to you when no one else sees?” He pinched at her nub between finger and thumb. “Want the King himself to kowtow before you, you power-hungry, beautiful bitch?”

“Yes,” she hissed. “Exactly. So _kneel_.” She nipped at his lip hard. “Make me scream, my King.”

A quick push of his tongue into her mouth, then he did as he was told, dropping down to one knee. He pushed her legs further apart, kissing the inside of one knee and twisting hard again, before slipping two fingers between her lips and stretching her open, so he could huff warm breath between but not touch. He stared at her - my god was she beautiful, even here - and used his thumb to grind hard, pressing that little pearl back against her, until he felt her squirm. “You remember how we met?” he asked, pressing harder still. “You seduced me, tied me up… all in the name of souls…”

“Of course. I--” Her words were interrupted by a breathy moan. “It was kinda hard to leave you there… you’re an amazing kisser.” She flung a foot up on Crowley’s desk. _Crowley’s_ desk. She **almost** felt guilty for the thoughts running through her mind and made a mental note to tell Scotty to grow a neatly trimmed beard.

His laughter rumbled in his chest, his fingers rubbing faster at that, parting around her entrance but not slipping inside. She was flushed and swollen, but he knew she could be a Hell of a lot more flushed and swollen, and he intended on getting her there. “Where do you prefer I kiss you?” he asked, tilting his head so his lips brushed her thigh when he spoke. “On which lips do you prefer mine?”

“Right at the mo, the ones closest to you, please, my King.”

A nod, and he held her open so he could kiss gently. He started with just a little chaste press of his lips to hers, then the barest hint of tongue that just delicately stroked over and over and over. 

Cecily tangled her hands in Scotius’ red hair, pulling slightly as she perched her other foot on the desk on the other side of the interim King’s head. She whimpered softly, her hips pushing against his tongue wanting more friction, more pressure. The teasingly soft strokes were **not** enough.

“Scotty… _more_.”

He smirked, and made sure she felt it, moving to lap instead over her clit. Rough, tugging strokes that flicked as they went, but when she started to squirm too much, he relented and licked at her juices instead, humming happily to himself. He could do this for hours, really. Nothing quite like a writhing woman reduced to begging for him, it made him feel _incredible_.

Cecily bit her lip, arching her back against the chair as she pushed her hips up and Scotty’s head down. She moaned his name quietly over and over as he kept her squirming in Crowley’s chair. She looked down at him with a grin. “You gonna fuck me with those fingers or keep me waiting?”

A loud, messy slurp and he sat back on his haunches. “Is that any way to speak to your King?” He was grinning, though, and running those fingers just around where she wanted them, almost pushing in but then back to stroking instead. “Shouldn’t you be respectful?”

She grinned back, leaning her head back on the chair. “Forgive me, you asshole. Please, my King? Is that better?”

That made him choke on a laugh, and he rewarded her _behaviour_ by pushing two fingers straight in, fucking them slowly but certainly. “It is a bit better, but your delivery could do with some work. Especially in public. If you disrespect me in front of other demons…” his fingers curled warningly, bending inside to dilate her. 

“I would _never_ , my King. Not in public at least.” She made a pouty face, pushing her hips towards him. “Why are you going so slow?” she whined.

“Why are you so impatient?” he countered, with a jab of his hand that left his knuckles slapping against her, then his hand moved in earnest, but he left her clit alone. Demon, remember? “I thought you had a few hours to kill? Don’t you like it when the tables are turned, sweetie?”

She gave a small cry at his sharp movement. “I’m not a very patient person when it comes to non-work related things. You should know that by now.” She hooked a leg around, pulling him closer by the back of his neck. “Tongue, too… _King_?”

“Say ‘please’,” he insisted, pushing a third finger inside. She was so soft, wet and warm and he couldn’t _wait_ to get back inside - tongue or dick. At her ‘please’, he lowered his head and dragged his teeth over her, his tongue licking it all better before he wrapped his lips around a good deal of flesh, tongue moving so fast it was almost a blur.

Cecily hissed at those teeth against her sensitive flesh. She grabbed a handful of his hair again, moaning a garbled mixture of fuckyesScottymyKing as the familiar feeling coiled in her belly. She was begging him not to stop in hardly any time at all, wriggling under him. 

Her free hand clutched at the arm of the chair as her breathing became faster. “I’m so close, Scotty, please don’t stop, please.”

With his teeth and lips, he held on to her clit, sucking so hard his cheeks hollowed, running his tongue so fast he thought he was going to permanently injure his jaw. Over and over again those fingers slammed in, trying to find every bit of her that reacted to such brusque treatment. He was enjoying this immensely, even on his knees, but it wasn’t the only thing on his mind right now. If he got her good and ready, he could just slide in - in a minute - and screw her into that borrowed throne. 

Cecily’s hips bucked and she screamed out _my King_ as he brought her over the edge. She threw her head back against the chair and closed her eyes as she was still squirming under his touch. “Scotty, please, _please_ fuck me.”

A cheshire-cat wide grin from ear to ear, and he slowed gradually to a halt, just pushing those fingers but lifting his head from her lap. “Here? On the chair? Or bent over this desk?”

“Doesn’t a King take what he wants?” 

In a flash, he was up. A hand on the back of her neck and he slammed her over the desk, face, first, growling: “Spread your legs for me.”

Cecily did as she was told, looking back at him over her shoulder with a wicked grin. “As you wish, my King.” She bit her lip as she waited for whatever was coming next. 

He grabbed at her skirt, lifting it up and over her ass, then the soaking panties that had been pushed to one side were shoved down towards her ankles. A hand on each hip as he moved to stand behind her, flush, rubbing his crotch to her ass. “Beg me again,” he insisted, undoing his fly with one hand and tugging his dick out.

“ _Please_ , my King. Take me, fuck me, claim me as yours, I **beg** you.” A little whimper as she pushed back against him. “Please.”

Oh, he could get used to that. To hearing her call him ‘King’, or beg for him. Yep. Turned out her little power-kink was contagious. “For you? Anything.” He held his dick still with one hand, sliding it between her legs a few times before he pulled her up onto her tip-toes to give him a better angle, and then slid right into her welcoming heat. Oh, oh yes. Hands back on her hips, he started to fuck her slowly to begin with, but his thrusts quickly became sharper, firmer. She clenched around him so very nicely, and it was maddeningly good. 

Cecily was practically moaning with every thrust as her fingers clamped down around the edge of the desk. She couldn’t help but think of all the times she sat across from Crowley at this very desk. How many times she wished he would just bend her over the desk like this and fuck her hard. Wasn’t really fair to Scotius to be thinking those thoughts right at this moment, was it? 

_Such is life_ , she thought. She turned her head back to look at the demon fucking her and bit her lip. “Harder, King… please.”

“You filthy minx,” he purr-growled, giving her as good as he could, banging her into the desk with each thrust. “You just love this office, don’t you? You love the smell of it. It makes you drip, Cecily. You’re drunk…” fingers in her hair, tugging her head back. “Bet you can almost taste that _scotch_ , can’t you?”

Cecily flinched as he pulled her head back, loving every minute of this. “Y- Yes. You should drink it, too, you know. While you’re at it - grow a beard for me.” She smirked before turning her head more to press their lips together roughly.

A beard? What was she trying to do, make a Crowley-clone? Fuck that. If he was growing a beard it was because he wanted to, not because he thought he _had_ to. He bit at her mouth, cruelly, and then scratched his fingernails down over her throat, grabbing lower to find a handful of her breast, to find the perky little nipple there and _PINCH_. That would teach her a lesson.

She hissed as his nails ran down her throat and **growled** as he pinched her nipple. “Alright, no beard for the King.” She reached a hand back around his head, grabbing a fistful of his hair, pulling him closer.

“I’m not him,” he snapped, eyes slitting in pleasure at the sting from the hair-pulling. “And you should remember that. He’s too busy fucking fallen angels to do--” a shove that rocked the desk, “... _this_ to you…” He walked her back just a little, mouthing at her lips. “Touch yourself while I fuck you. I want to feel you hold me tight inside that evil little pussy of yours.”

She moved her hand down between her legs, rubbing her clit furiously with absolutely no finesse. Her fingers bumped against the demon’s dick as she dropped her head backwards onto his shoulder. “Scotty.” Her tone was pleading and with a bit of a whimper she added, “My King.”

“Shut up and come for me, Cecily. I want to hear you screaming.” He moved to bite down on her shoulder, still pinching her as he took her as hard and fast as he could. The soft sounds of her body welcoming him in were driving him mad, he was so damn close. “ **Come**...” He shoved her hand aside and scratched a fingernail between her lips, wanting to see if the sting would work for her or not.

“ _FUCK_.” She screamed - loud - as she came, her body nearly convulsing under the waves of pleasure that swept over her. Her legs were shaking so bad she could barely stand up properly. She reached for the chair, the desk, _something_ to grab onto as every thrust sent an aftershock of pleasure rippling through her body.

Hah. He still had it. Would that decrepit old demon be able to reduce her to screaming, shaking, and panting? Probably not, he told himself. He managed just a heartbeat longer, before he was grunting and coming, too, with one last little wriggle and then with a laugh, he wrapped arms around her to make sure when he sat back down in the chair she came with him into his lap. Little kisses to the side of her throat… “Think I’m cut out to be King, then?”

Cecily laughed, too, as the pair sat down in the chair. She hummed happily at the kisses before turning to kiss him properly. “As a matter of fact, I do.” Another peck.

“Well… when we’re done here, I think you should be my chief of communications. Spread the word.” He brushed her hair back into place, then bounced her a little on his lap. “And then when you’re done, we can celebrate in style.”

“Are you trying to make a deal with me, King?” She giggled, nipping at his lips. “If I spread the word that you’re in charge while Crowley’s on sabbatical or extended leave, whatever it is that he’s doing, then come back to you, my King, we can celebrate… which which hopefully involves more of what we just did, yes?” 

“More of that, and better,” he boasted. “Maybe I’ll even buy you dinner before I fuck you senseless.”

“Such a gentleman… and very humble,” she smirked. “I suppose you have a deal, sweetie.”

“Now, do we consider that signed, or do we need another go at it, do you think?”

“We probably need another go at it.” An evil grin swept across her face as she turned to straddle him in the chair. This whole Scotius-as-King thing might not be so bad… 

“Here, or somewhere more… comfortable?”

Somewhere more comfortable? Like the bed? No. _No_. Not the bed. That was the only thing that Crowley hadn’t destroyed in his fit of rage after Cas had gone missing. And it was where she had held Crowley for hours and - just… no. **Off-limits**. She would have to move it out of here… put it in storage? Something… perhaps offer a _better_ bed for Scotty. 

“What are you some kinda pansy? Take me up against the wall like a _King_. Bonus points if you put a crack in it - but you’re fixing it if you do.”

“Oh, you are a little devil, aren’t you,” he said, completely oblivious to the ulterior motive. “I hope you like masonry dust…”


	57. Chapter 57

Cas let Crowley sleep as long as he dared. He assumed it was sleep, or sleep in the same way he had done when he was Emmanuel; the demon’s eyes were closed and his breathing deep and even. Cas kept being distracted from his task of watching for monsters - the Leviathans who didn’t take kindly to them being here on their territory - by watching Crowley.

He looked… peaceful. Mostly. As peaceful as he suspected it was possible to be, shoved up a giant tree in the afterlife for things that go bump in the night. It was why he didn’t want to wake him, because their existence now was less than wonderful, and the longer he could perpetuate the lie, the better. The longer Crowley could potentially be dreaming of pleasant things, instead of the reality that was… well. Purgatory. Crowley’s lashes fluttered on his cheeks, his lips parted occasionally, and the arms tucked in his armpits just… damnit. The King of Hell had no business being adorable and cute. It was monumentally unfair. Cas knew - again - why he’d not gone to see Crowley before fixing Sam. If he’d been reminded of all these things there would have been no way he’d be able to walk away. Like the little snuffling noises he made. Like the tiny little growls his stomach sometimes uttered.

Damned King. It was about time they moved on - in case anything found them - but Cas thought that maybe they could try to steal a last few moments of peace together. He moved cautiously through the branches to sit side-by-side with him, and stole an arm out around his waist. He was careful not to move too fast so he didn’t jolt awake and fall to his untimely - well… it wouldn’t be death, but it wouldn’t be nice, would it? Come to think, what _would_ happen if they died? Would they simply be resurrected all over again? He hmmphed at the thought, and put his head on Crowley’s shoulder, rubbing cheek to cheek. He’d missed this, too. Okay... not the tree.

The demon hadn’t been asleep, not really. His mind had drifted to more pleasant times as he tried to drown out the bizarre noises. Crowley smiled as he felt the angel relocate to his side. When he opened his eyes, he thought for a moment it was a memory. But the memories weren’t as clear, or as warm as the angel lying next to him. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather see when I open my eyes than you, kitten.” 

“I suspect you would rather see me in a different location, however,” Cas said, unable to prevent the smile. Demon! Sorceror, more like. How in the Hell he managed to make Cas smile despite himself so often was beyond him. Another little rub of rough-cheek to rough-cheek, and then Cas was wondering if he should kiss him or not? He wanted to. He did. It was just… he wasn’t sure, but something made him shy to. “We should… probably… move…” 

He did not want to move. But it was logical. Wasn’t it? Yes. Move. Not just… hold on. Pretending they were back home, in the place that had somehow made itself the place he wanted to be most in the world. More even than Heaven. 

“Or,” Crowley said, rubbing his nose against Castiel’s. “We could stay here for a little while longer.” He kissed the angel slowly, his hand moving around the back of the seraph’s neck - the familiar spot that just felt _right_.

“Do you think it wise?” Cas asked, feeling the hand on his neck like a burning hot brand, the sensation going all the way down his spine, and radiating through his lower back. He arched under the hand, and clutched tighter around the demon’s waist. It was a bad idea to start trading kisses. Kisses led to other things. Other things led to noise and being vulnerable. He slid his own free hand up to cup Crowley’s jaw, to run the rough pad of his thumb over his chin, to hold him in place in case he decided more kisses were in order. “I missed you.”

“Well… we’re up here in this tree… seems pretty safe right now.” He turned to kiss Cas’ finger on his chin. “I missed you so much, angel. There are no words to describe just _how much_.” 

The demon let his fingers move gently in Castiel’s hair. “I missed your smile, your eyes, the feel of your fingers on my skin, your lips… I could go on forever, you know.”

Cas laughed at that, and pushed into the fingers in his hair. “You might live to regret saying that, you know. If we survive, then… this could be forever…” He didn’t want _this_ , Purgatory, to be forever… but the other things, yes.

“I used to dream of you. Back when I didn’t know who I was. Things bled through, and it was always the sense of how… happy you made me. How… _right_ I came to feel with you.” His thumb played over Crowley’s lips. He wanted to taste them so very, very badly. “We started all wrong. But it wasn’t like th-- I mean I--” Shit. Instead of admitting it, he bent to kiss him instead. A firm, but slow push of lips to lips, and a tongue that ran out to trace over his mouth again. He wasn’t trying to be pushy, he just… wanted to kiss him like he’d kissed him a thousand times before. The angel’s free hand was trying to tug his shirt free of his pants, to slide a flat palm over the demon’s flank.

Crowley kissed the angel back passionately, his own hands moving under the flimsy cotton top that was once white and across Cas' skin, moving around to his lower back. He pulled him closer as their tongues tangled together. He had missed the feel of his angel's vessel beneath his fingertips, the spark of electricity between them making him feel dizzy, the small noises Castiel made as the demon's lips moved along the seraph's jaw.

Cas curled his fingers around the back of the demon’s neck, holding him in place as he tilted his head back, offering his throat and making a hissing, hiccupy sound of pleasure as Crowley kissed him there. He scratched with his nails, wanting more. Harder. Tougher. Faster. “Please,” he begged, a broken whisper of a plea. “Please, Crowley… please put me back together…”

Because he still felt broken. Broken and a little crazy. And a lot afraid. Palm over his King’s belly, fingers skirting lower but not daring to touch. “ _Please_ , Crowley. My… King… you always know what to do…”

Crowley pulled Castiel on top of him, hands easily pushing past the flimsy cotton top.

"Oh, Cas... I fucking missed you," he whispered in between kisses. The demon dragged his hands lower, grabbing the angel's ass and pulling him down so he could grind up against Castiel's crotch.

The angel made a very undignified noise of need, pleased and somehow relieved to feel the proof that his King still wanted him. It wasn’t like he really, genuinely worried he wouldn’t, more that he… well. Thought perhaps the part where he’d abandoned him (not deliberately) and then gone crazy might have pissed him off. “I still think… I’m not sure I’m _me_ ,” he admitted, even as he tried to push down into his lap. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ‘me’ again, but I-- I--”

He dropped his forehead to the demon’s, and swallowed. “If anyone can fix me, then it is you. You were the last hallucination my mind threw at me. My final nemesis…” Head to one side. “Or my saviour. The things you said hurt the most, because I knew… I knew you loved me, I knew I loved you back.”

Crowley hesitated. "We don't have to do this, not if you don't want to... if you're not feeling _you_... and I'm sorry the me in your mind was hurtful. I would never mean to hurt you intentionally, angel. I love you more than anything - you know that right?"

He moved his hands to Castiel's hips, holding him still for a moment after a soft kiss. "When you-- when I thought you were... gone... it destroyed me. It broke me into a million pieces. I knew I'd never be whole again if you weren't around. I need you, kitten. So very, very much."

“It was hurt I deserved,” Cas countered. “You only said the things I knew to be true, underneath it all. You said the things I was ashamed of. Not of _you_ … I was ashamed of how I treated you. If I could do things over - differently - I would. I… am sorry, my King. For any time I ever hurt you.”

He looked at the demon from under his lashes, suddenly shy. “I need you, too. More than anything. I just… can you still… love me if I’m broken?” He swallowed, because it was difficult to say that. Difficult to admit that. He was broken. All the Leviathans, and the damage from the Cage had taken its toll. He was not who he had once been, and he was painfully aware of it. “I don’t want to lose you again. However I have you. I just… need to have you in my life, in any way you will have me.”

"Don't be silly.” The King smiled carefully. “I love you no matter what. I never stopped loving you... I never will, Cas. I'm broken, too, you know. Maybe that's why the two of us work so well... together we're made whole."

More kisses before Crowley hooked his thumbs in Castiel's waistband, eyeing the angel to make sure it was still okay.

The angel felt his mouth go dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He held Crowley’s eyes, making sure he saw the certainty there before he nodded. He tugged at the demon’s tie (it was an affectation, to wear it here, where there was nothing but grime and darkness, but he couldn’t imagine Crowley without it) and unbuttoned his collar, lapping at the skin he exposed. It was slightly less filthy under his shirt, but Cas would have licked anywhere, anyway. Hands that went down to his belt, unfastening it without hesitation.

“If it makes you feel better, we can always claim it’s another deal?” Cas joked, pushing into his briefs, his fingertips just teasing. “My heart… for yours?”

Crowley growled at the angel's tongue against his skin. He pulled down his pants, grasping Castiel's dick in one hand, stroking slowly. "My heart for yours... forever, my angel." He grinned, nipping at the seraph's lip before sucking it into his mouth, running his tongue along it.

Cas couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d been touched there. He wasn’t sure what day it was, now - what month… even what year. He’d been aroused several times as Emmanuel, but he’d never really… dealt with the matter. It had never seemed right to, and he knew it was because he’d been missing this. Missing the rough pads of the demon’s fingers and thumb, or the way they could somehow touch every last nerve ending. Impatiently, he shoved his own hand in Crowley’s pants much more brusquely, stroking suddenly hard and fast. He moaned into the King’s mouth, humping at his hand. He wasn’t sure _what_ he wanted, just knew that he did. And soon. And hard. 

(It was stupidly risky, making love up some godforsaken tree in Purgatory. Stupidly risky. But Cas would have ripped the head clean off the shoulders of anything that decided now was a good time to interrupt.)

Crowley matched Cas’ rough pace with his hand as teeth and tongue scraped and licked feverishly. “How do you want to…?” he breathed over Castiel’s lips.

A little snort, amused. “Anything. My King… _anything_. Your hand, my hand, or…” a blush, and a swallow. “I just… need. You. Right now.”

“I need you, too, love.” He moved his free hand to the angel’s mouth, pushing a finger in with a smirk. “We’re gonna have to do this the old fashioned way.”

It took only a moment for Cas to work out what that _meant_ , because he’d never really had to before. He smiled shyly, closed his eyes, and started to bob his head up and down, suckling that finger messily like it was something else entirely. He kept up the firm strokes, though, jacking the demon off, making sure he was as ready for this as Cas felt. He was relieved he didn’t have to take the lead. After so long not doing, he was worried he’d forget how. And forget when to stop and draw the line, too.

Crowley grunted, bucking up against the angel’s hand. The fingers and the grip the angel had on his dick was - dare he say - _Heavenly_. He let Cas work on his finger for a moment before he was felt himself **much** too impatient. He replaced the finger in Castiel’s mouth with his tongue and moved to press the saliva-slicked finger at the angel’s warm, welcoming hole. He teased for just a moment before slipping it in, making him that much more impatient.

Castiel was trying to make it good, to suck on his tongue slowly and skillfully, but when he felt Crowley’s blunt finger pushing in… he almost choked. Without Grace, magic, lube… anything, really, that had made this so easy… it was a dry, tight feeling, and although it didn’t sting, it was some sensation close to that. Sort of… slightly burning, but a dull pressure that made him frustrated and more horny. Was this what normal people did? He wasn’t sure.

He grabbed Crowley’s wrist with his free hand, guiding his hand faster, harder. It meant he lost concentration and the ability to use his other hand properly, but then he _was_ suddenly arching up on his knees to sink back down, desperate for more. **More**.

Crowley pulled his finger out slowly, just long enough to spit on the finger and a second one. He pushed them both into Cas gently before fucking him at the same pace the angel had previously demanded. When he was satisfied the angel was ready for him, he moved Castiel’s hips to reposition him and let him lower himself onto Crowley’s aching cock.

Arms wrapped around the demon’s shoulders, fingers lacing behind his neck and trailing down his spine as Crowley moved him into position. He felt… strangely at peace, even though the building, terrible heat of need was back in his vessel. He felt emotionally… better. It was difficult to let Crowley inside of him, because this was much dryer than any time they’d tried in the past… but he used his weight and Crowley’s guidance to sink down. Inch after inch pushed in, and Cas bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Deeper and deeper in the demon went, and Cas was suddenly caught off-balance, a squawk and he grabbed at a branch with one hand for leverage, because… falling out of a tree with the King of Hell in your ass? Not dignified.

“...were you always this big?” he huffed, mock-hurt. “I’m surprised you fit in me.”

“Cas… such a flirt. You already have me forever, you don’t need to flatter me so - although it’s appreciated.” Crowley ran a hand along Cas’ thigh, the other still stroking his dick. “And don’t worry, love… I won’t let you fall.”

“It’s not flattery. Well. No. Is it flattery if it’s true?” he asked, confused, and getting distracted by the demon’s hands. Damnit. “Please, Crowley… haven’t we waited long enough? We could die here… I don’t want to die without… well.” 

One hand on his shoulder, the other holding the branch, he tried to ride Crowley’s dick, growl-purring at the heady burn of it. “Without re-consummation…” There. It sounded… sensible.

The demon growled with a smile. “Neither do I.” He moved both hands to the angel’s hips and helped him move a bit faster. Another growl because _fuck_ it felt so fucking good and it had been **so** long since he and Castiel had been intimate. 

“I love you, Cas… so much.”

Every time he heard those words, Cas smiled and felt something sort of… snapthaw in his chest. Crowley meant it. Even after he’d thrown him out in a panic, even after he’d lost his whole mind, and even after he’d chosen to see his charges first. (Well. Taken forcibly to their location, but then he’d chosen not to leave…) He grinned, reaching for his own cock because Crowley was doing a pretty damn good job of encouraging him right now. 

“I love you too. If we - when we - get out of here, I’ll… I’ll tell everyone. I don’t care _who_ knows. I never want to leave you again. Ever, my King, **ever**.”

Crowley answered the angel’s sentiments by grabbing his neck and pulling him down for a deep, passionate kiss. As he rolled his tongue around the seraph’s, his feet moved for purchase on the large limb so that he could thrust his own hips upward as Cas came down on his dick. He could feel the angel’s hand against his belly, moving furiously, and he moved to grasp his own hand around Castiel’s. 

Their hands moved together for a moment before the demon pushed Cas’ hand away, taking over and jacking his hand up and down the seraph’s shaft with no finesse because everything felt _so_ good. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, but he'd forgotten how damn great that felt. How the demon's hand could pull on his dick and make his heart ache somehow. Cas moved his hand away without complaint, because then he could clutch Crowley's shoulders instead and brace his legs. A little concentration and then he was lifting himself up and down with more force and speed. Each time he sank back down, the jolt to his insides made another sharp cry of happiness peal out. "Yes! Oh, God, yes. Oh God, Crowley that-- I--"

It had been too long. Much too long. And the fear of being caught like this, bouncing on the demon's lap up a tree, frantically fucking like nothing else mattered or existed... He couldn't go slow if he wanted to. He wanted to be a good fuck, he did. But this position had gravity in its favour and when he fell back down each time the heavy, blunt, tight stab to his gut made his body scream in bliss. He grabbed at the demon's head, pulling it back hard and biting until he tasted blood on Crowley's lips. He licked over his wounded lip and then fucked his tongue into his mouth as fiercely as the demon fucked his ass.

Crowley growled, frantically thrusting his hips up. He wasn’t sure if it was just the pure _need_ he felt or the fact that they were up in a tree in a Hell-adjacent nightmare, but whatever was happening, it was feral and raw and _fuck_ was it amazing. 

He tasted his own blood on the angel’s lips, the animal in him biting back at the seraph’s swollen lips until he, too, tasted blood. He licked it better, nipping and kissing all along Cas’ jaw, throat, ear, whatever ended up in front of his mouth. He kept stroking, too, the feel of the angel’s dick in his hand was driving him just as crazy as his own dick deep in his lover’s ass.

“Crowley--” Cas’ fingernails scratched over the back of the demon’s neck as he tried for - what? Purchase? Some way to lessen the tight, furious tension in his chest and stomach? As if pinching and scratching and causing pain might somehow lessen the need… which of course, they could not. Only release could, and he was so close, so damned close. He fought his body for control, but he could tell he was losing. “Please, I-- I need--” What? Yes. More. Permission, possibly. The tree was groaning under them, and he was terrified he was going to snap the bough they were balancing on by all the bouncing. “ _Please_ ,” he said again, as if the tone in his voice explained what the ‘please’ meant. But considering the way his balls were tensing, it wouldn’t exactly be rocket science to work out what the angel required: Crowley. Pleasure. **Now**.

“Cas…” the demon said, looking into the angel’s eyes. “Please. Come for me.” 

He picked up the pace as best he could with his hand, it was taking quite a bit of focus to do anything right now because Crowley was close, too. So close. If Cas would just… “And say my name when you do.”

Say his name? Cas would scream it. He would bellow it as loud as an angel could, if it didn’t put them both in danger of decapitation or worse. He’d yell it so every damned, cursed, foul thing in this place knew he belonged there, in Crowley’s arms… if it didn’t mean he might die in them, too. Against every thing in his body that screamed for volume, he bent to put his lips beside Crowley’s ear, so he could _feel_ the heat on his breath as he sighed out his name in low rapture. “ _Crowley_ ,” he breathed, still riding him for all he was worth. “My _King_ , my **l-love**...” 

And then the angel could not hold back any longer, splashing sticky, hot and _cleansing_ spurts as the demon’s hand carried on working over his length, a laugh and his name again, in one, and the angel stopped bouncing because he needed to be pressed as **hard** into his lap as he could go.

"Fuck, Cas, _fuck_." Crowley threw his head back, smacking it against the branch **hard** , the pain not even registering as the angel pressed down into his lap.

His hips pressed up as much as they could. "Angel, please, I _need_..." Another growl. "I need to move, _please_."

Head swimming, the seraph nodded. He prised Crowley’s hand free from his softening prick, and guided it to his hip. He was feeling blissed out and relaxed, but he didn’t want to leave his lover wanting. “As hard as you need,” he promised, and then - free from any worry about himself, he put hands on the demon’s shoulders so he could lift himself almost off before landing back down with a solid, fleshy slap, fucking himself raw on Crowley’s shaft. His balls were empty, but every single thrust inside dragged over his nerves, pressed into that strange place inside, and made him cry out all over again. “Please, love, please come in me. I’ve been so empty, so lost-- **please** , my King… come for me?”

Crowley only needed a couple more thrusts before he was coming - hard - inside of Cas, crying out the angel’s name. He squeezed Castiel’s hips, fingers digging into his flesh. He ran his hands up the seraph’s back, pulling him down close to him and kissing him once more. “I love you,” he whispered in between kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

It was… right. It was. It was right that they did this, that they found comfort together. Cas slowed to a halt, lowering himself properly into his lap, arching under the hands on his spine. He felt… buzzed with exertion. It was strangely more physical in this place, like his Grace was dampened down, like he was - not really _human_ , but not really angel, either - and the effort left him feeling pleasantly worn out. He laughed silently at the little ‘love you’s and licked the tip of his tongue over the shallow bite in Crowley’s lip. “Promise me if I ever try to leave again, you’ll stop me. Not that I ever want to. Ever. I want to be yours, Crowley. Things stopped working when I didn’t have the faith to stay.”

“I’m not gonna let you go anywhere, angel. You’re mine and I’m yours.” Crowley was out of breath, exhausted, and positively buzzing. “I don’t know how I managed to live without you, Cas. You truly are the other half of me.”

“Let’s just… stay for a little bit longer?” Cas asked, though it was almost begging. “I just want to listen to your heart beating. We can stay for a bit, can’t we?” There were faint beads of sweat over his demon’s brow, and his fingers stroked them away. “There’ll be plenty of time for running later. For once, I want to sit still.”

Crowley pulled Cas closer, leaning into the angel’s fingers as he ran them over his brow. “We can only stay a bit longer if you’re close to me. Is that manageable?” He grinned as he looked over the angel’s face. They were both sweaty… and dirty… and probably covered in blood that was not theirs, but in that moment, Castiel was the most beautiful he’d ever seen him. Maybe because the light that usually shined so bright wasn’t blaring - as beautiful as it was, of course. It was more toned down, it was… still beyond compare to anything… _ever_.

“You are literally the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, Cas.”

“You do not need those smooth lines on me, demon-filth,” Cas said, but his lips were twisted into a smile. “But I will confess, of all my father’s creations, I like you the best.” Nose bumped to nose. “And I do not mean simply the body you choose to inhabit. I mean _you_. You are not like the other demons. You never have been. Perhaps that is why I listened to your honeyed words. I **knew**.” What he wouldn’t give for their bed, though. “My King. You are the best demon, and I the worst angel. Perhaps He made us this way, so we could find one another, after all.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re the worst angel, love. Perhaps the worst at following God’s rules… well… maybe not. No, I wouldn’t say you’re the worst at all. You’re the best as far as I’m concerned. Though I will agree with you, I _am_ the best demon.” Crowley chuckled, placing a gentle kiss on Castiel’s lips. “For a moment, I almost forgot we were in this God-forsaken place.”

“If it fixes you and I… maybe it’s not so forsaken after all,” Cas mused. He put his head on his demon’s shoulder, sighing contentedly. “Just another stop along the way.”


	58. Chapter 58

Dean was drumming his fingers over the tabletop in distraction, his hand kept starting to reach for a flask that wasn’t there. Whenever he caught his fingers reaching, he cursed under his breath and went back to leafing through the books. Across the table Sammy was surfing from site to site.

“Maybe we should call it a night,” Sam suggested. “We’ve been at it for hours.”

“Damnit, Sammy, we need to know how to summon that bitch.”

“I know, I know. But without the specific spell, we’d be risking getting whoever show up.”

“So we put whoever shows at knife-point, and we stick ‘em til they tell us where Meg is.” The Hunter slammed the book shut, and shoved it away. “Because I got nada.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Or we could go with the demon who came to us…”

“And make a deal? ‘Cause look how well that turned out last time for me, or for Cas. The angel is dead or worse, neither he nor Crowley come when we call, and we don’t know what that Cecily wants. If she had enough mojo, why would she come crying to us? Nah. We need to get to Meg, and we need to get the kid back.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. 

“You got something to say?”

“Nah, it’s just…”

“I know.” Dean’s fingers itched again. “He’d know how to summon her. Or he’d find out, and call us a pair of idjits for taking so long.”

“Well. He’s gone, and gone for good this time. So I guess it is just us. We can try calling Hell, see who we get. If she’s still rogue, chances are high whoever we get won’t know where she’s at, or what she’s up to - and if she’s not? If she’s staged a coup? Whoever we get won’t want to sell out the new Queen.”

“You really think we should trust Cecily? After what Crowley - **and** Meg - did?”

“I think we’ve got something she wants - Crowley - and we want Kevin **and** Cas.”

“Alright, alright… but if this all ends up with the Apocalypse again?”

Sam shut his laptop. “I’ll wait for you to say ‘I told you so’.”

***

“So how did it feel?” the demon asked, cocking her head to one side, curious. 

Kevin Tran glared at her, shifting in his chair. One heavy manacle circled his ankle, giving him the shortest of leashes to walk about the cell she’d imprisoned him in: Bed. Chair. Table. Toilet. Sink. It was about as spacey as a college room would be, he thought, but that was no real reassurance. He was in _Advanced Placement_. He was supposed to be the first Asian _President of the United States_. He was **not** supposed to be kidnapped by some crazy bitch and locked up.

“You know, if you don’t talk to me, things rapidly become unpleasant. This? This is entry-level. You play right by me, and you get the Ritz-Carlton. You _don’t_...”

He could hear the threat in her voice, and he wanted to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both.

“Fine. How did what feel?”

“Your vocation. Your sudden call to arms. I mean, to go from normal kid to car-jacking your mom’s wheels and driving around the country on a mission from God?”

“Like a migraine from Hell,” he replied, with a shrug. “Like I’d pulled an all-nighter surviving on Mountain Dew and adrenaline.”

“And since then? Since the switch got flipped to ‘On’?”

“Why do you even want to know?”

“Oh, little slide rule… I think you’ve missed the whole point of this. See, you work for me now. And this? This is the part where we do the Capture Bonding. You know? Where you open up to me, so I like you and I keep you alive.”

Kevin paled. “You need me. Don’t you? That’s why you kidnapped me?”

“I prefer the term ‘borrowed’. Now. It’s true that I _do_ need you. According to my sources, you’re the only one capable of reading the things Old Beardy left lying around. So you’re useful to me if I can find more… Not to mention the Winchester boys want you, and what they want is worth having.”

“So you’re going to… what?”

“Keep you. For now. Until I find things I want you to read. Then? I’m gonna ask you to read them. I’m gonna ask nicely at first, and if you play ball I can make life…” she sauntered closer, hands on her thighs as she bent down to be on eye-level with him. “ _Very_ pleasant for you. But if you don’t?”

She did not explain what would happen then, but Kevin was no idiot. He could tell. 

“Let’s just say it’s in your best interests to co-operate, Advance Placement.”

“...right.”

“Chin up, kid. I’ll send the mooks along with your supper. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Kevin doubted that. He doubted that very much.

***

Crowley crouched down, panting heavily, a hand pressed to his side. He winced and pulled it free, peering at the hot, red blood that smeared his hand. A lot of blood. It was fresh and filled the air with copper-tang. It would be difficult to ignore the scent for most of the inhabitants, here. Blood was sustenance for more than just the Vampires who stalked between the trees for all eternity. He hissed in low anger, and staggered on a few more steps.

He _felt_ the presence, before he saw it. Felt it prickle the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure where the monster was, only that it was close, and it was hungry. It wasn’t a Leviathan - thank God - and he dropped the angel blade down his sleeve and into his hand ready. Amber eyes scanned the undergrowth, looking for the slightest hint of movement.

It nearly got the drop on him. A silent snarl and a _pounce_ and the Vampire was on him. Demon or not, the creature wanted to eat and the scent rising from Crowley’s flank was maddeningly strong. Crowley got his arm up in time to block the lunge for his jugular, going down under the sudden weight to take the beast down with him.

“Now, angel!” he yelled, feet scrabbling as he used all his strength to keep the Vampire from eating him alive. He could all but _feel_ the teeth grazing the air above his throat, and then there was a flash of silver metal and Castiel was dragging his attacker back.

Cas was strong, even without his angel-boosted power. Must be his vessel, Crowley thought, as he pushed himself to his feet and dusted himself down. The damage to his poor shirt and jacket were irreparable, he knew. At least here. The stolen blood he’d smeared all over him as bait would play havoc with the fabric, stiffening it and staining it and even if he did get this suit fixed and dry-cleaned, he would _know_ it was there, underneath it all. Crowley hated being so filthy, but there really was no option here in this worse-than-Hell.

“Stay still if you want to live,” Cas growled in the Vampire’s ear. He had hefted him upright, and the creature was now up on the balls of his feet, fingers gripping Cas’ arm to try to keep him from pressing any harder with his blade. 

“Filthy, nasty trick,” their captive snarled.

“I thought it was pretty cunning, all told. Certainly caught _you_ , didn’t it? And that was the whole point.” Crowley let the angel blade he carried dance through his fingers, smirking as the creature visibly winced.

“If you’re going to kill me, get on with it,” he snapped. “I would have made it a fast death for you.”

The angel dragged the knife harder, tilting it at the hilt so just the very tip pressed behind an ear, pushing into the squishy cartilage there and threatening to break the skin. “Do not lie, filth. You would have drained him dry by degrees. It is **not** a quick death you offer. You want the heart still beating until you drain the last drop.”

Crowley was very, very glad the angel had his back in here. He could probably survive on his own - it was what he did best, after all - but it would be harder. And lonelier. There was nothing redeeming about this place except, perhaps, for the lack of Winchesters. Still, he’d rather be on Earth and hunted by those denim-and-plaid wearing insults to fashion than he would be here. 

As it was, each passing day in this God-forsaken (literally, indeed) place, the more his angel seemed to come back to him. Sort of. The ‘I don’t fight’ flower-crown and tie-dye hippy days were gone, the conscientious objector apparently objecting more to being dead than a life of aggression, but it was… different. He would dispatch creatures ruthlessly and efficiently, but Crowley didn’t get the same sense of enjoyment radiating off of Castiel when he did so. If it meant the angel stayed sane that way, if it meant he didn’t suffer another nervous breakdown and personality disorder… well. Crowley would be happy.

“I gotta survive, same as anyone,” the Vampire threw at them, trying to edge away from the blade. The further he twisted, the harder the angel kept up the pressure… until the dumb thing realised he would get no mercy, and he’d just end up increasingly in pain on his tiptoes trying to relieve what was - at most - a discomfort. 

“True enough, and we’ll even let you go when we get the information we’re looking for.” Probably. If he didn’t pose a threat. If he played nicely. But Crowley wasn’t going to tell him that, was he?

“What the Hell could I know that you need to know?”

Crowley paced closer, still dancing the angel blade between his fingers. “What everyone wants, my fanged friend. The egress.”

“...the fuck?”

“He means,” the angel growled, “the way out.”

“The fuck didn’t you say that for?”

Crowley finished with the hilt firmly in his palm, then drove the weapon straight into the Vampire’s thigh. “I did. Just because you’re so poorly educated you don’t know a polysyllabic word if it enters you from the posterior is no reason for the rest of us to reduce down to your level.”

Castiel snorted at him. “Perhaps it is, Crowley, if they don’t understand the questions you ask.”

“That’s what you’re here for, kitten. You speak brute. You were around the-- around the everyman often enough.” He’d nearly said ‘Winchesters’, but specifically Dean… though at the last minute he’d remembered himself enough not to cause a domestic over his human charges in front of the mark. Cas probably knew anyway, but he didn’t comment.

“Don’t you think if I knew the fucking way out, that I’d be out through it already?” 

The Vampire’s eyes were flashing with anger and pain, so Crowley decided it was high time he twisted the knife. Even if they let him go, lamed like this he was going to be a limping, bullseyed target for every chump who fancied their chances. 

“I think knowing and doing are two different things,” the King countered, pulling his knife out with a satisfying sound of flesh on metal. “And I know the door’s opened three times already to let things out, and also that it opens this way in... whenever one of you horrid little beasties shuffles off the coil mortal. So it’s an imperfect system, and I need to find out _how_ imperfect.”

“Okay. Fine. I’ll tell you.”

“Listening.” Crowley was sure the sudden change of heart was a ruse, but then you did have to let the morons feel they were getting somewhere at times. Being cocky tripped them up.

“See, you have to follow this road. It leads right out from the centre, to the city…”

“And where do we find this road?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

Not sounding too convincing. At least he could have _tried_ to sound helpful.

“Then, when you’re in the city, you gotta…” he nudged his head slightly, encouraging Crowley to lean in close. He knew Cas had a hold on the thing, so it wasn’t a risk. He trusted the angel implicitly, after all. 

“What do I have to do?”

“Clap your heels together three times and say: ‘There’s no place like home’.” 

Crowley nodded at Cas, who suddenly pushed the knife... and with barely any effort the beast was bereft one ear. He screamed in agony, the blood pouring down his face and over his throat. It was strangely satisfying, but that was probably the poor living conditions making him feel more brutal than usual. The Vampire gathered his wits enough to spit, but Crowley was already pulling back.

“If that’s the way you want to play it,” Crowley said. “We’ll soon see what happens to a monster when he dies in the afterlife. Angel, if you’d be so kind?”

Castiel pulled the Vampire’s head further back, and then there was a short, sharp arc as he brought around the crude sword they’d fashioned, cleaving the monster’s head from his shoulders. Cas held the head aloft by the hair, and let the body fall limp and lifeless by his feet.

“Shame he wasn’t talkative. Still. We can use him as an example to others that we mean business.”

“Perhaps if we mount his head upon a spike?” Cas suggested.

It was strangely macabre and overly dramatic and stagey. Crowley loved it. Cas would have made an excellent dem-- no. No. He wouldn’t. Crowley preferred him as Castiel the slightly-wonky, but fiercely driven angel of the Lord. 

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Crowley agreed. “Just have to hope that your father dearest was not one to set up a resurrection policy in here, or we’re going to find ourselves even less popular than we already are. And as the Leviathans are here, plus a good number of things we dispatched when we were _finding_ this place…”

“The next one, we should allow to go. So that they spread the word that we mean business and are looking for a way out.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Crowley turned to the nearest tree and - on tiptoes - he grabbed a sizeable looking branch and sheared it straight off. It was not a hard task to break off all the smaller shoots, and then he was ramming it into the cold, stale earth.

Castiel walked closer and pushed the head onto the makeshift pole, before bending to wipe his hands on the dead man’s body. He looked a little resigned, so Crowley narrowed the distance between them and surged up onto the balls of his feet to deliver a little kiss. “You did good, angel. Really good. He was being uncooperative. You don’t have anything to feel sorry about, you know?”

“I know,” Cas replied, smiling a little now. 

“If it gets too much, you tell me. I don’t mind rolling my sleeves up if it makes you happy.”

“No… I should fight my own battles. Or - at least - my fair share of them. This is something I need to do.”

“Well, if it ever changes… you should know I won’t think less of you. Not one bit.”

“That means a lot to me, Crowley. You have no idea.”

“Yeah, well. You mean too much to me to lose again, Cas. And if it means I do all the dirty work? Then I’ll do it. You’re my angel, Cas. In all senses of the word.”

The seraph stepped closer then, leaning to press their foreheads together. Crowley liked that gesture, because it seemed so uniquely… him. Hands that found one another and squeezed, and then Cas stepped back. “Let’s give them time to think about what this means,” he said, gesturing to the impaled head. “Then the next one might crack. There are, after all… a _lot_ of monsters here.”

“A fact for which I am both incredibly grateful for, and utterly repulsed by. But you’re right. Best to see it in a positive light. Come on… I think we should find a place to rest for a while. Don’t you?”

“Definitely.”


	59. Chapter 59

Cas and Crowley had lost count of how many monsters they’d tortured, how long they’d been in this _mess_. Their time was spent torturing, hunting, and resting. There was nothing else here in Purgatory - **nothing**. They moved slowly, on the trail of yet another abomination in these grey looking woods when they heard a twig snap a little ways ahead of them.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” A voice with a strange drawl pierced the thick air as Castiel and Crowley stopped dead in their tracks. “I heard a rumour there was two angels here, but I didn’t believe it ‘til now.”

Crowley chuckled. “Angel… that’s adorable. Try King of Hell, darling.”

“Well… last I checked, there _was_ an angel in charge of Hell. His name’s Lucifer. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?” the monster - clearly a vampire - grinned.

“Exactly. _Was_. I’m the new head honcho now. And believe me, sweetheart, I’m no angel.”

The Vampire chuckled. “Whatever you say. Can’t lie about what you are here. Your light’s too bright to be anything else. I ain’t one to judge, though.” The Vampire paused for a moment, taking a couple of steps closer. “But on a more interestin’ note… I hear y’all are lookin’ for a way out.”

“And you’re just gonna hand that information over free of charge?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, no. Not for free. And you’ll never break me for the information, I’ve been in here a long, _long_ time. I’ll tell you what you need to know if you do somethin’ for me in return.”

“I don’t deal with Vamps.”

But Castiel held up a hand to Crowley as if to say, _let’s hear what he has to say_. “What could we possibly offer you?”

“A way out. I can’t get through the portal on my own - it was designed for God’s favourites to be able to get out if they accidentally landed themselves in here. No monsters allowed. But there **is** a way to get around that little rule.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Why would God leave such a giant loophole?”

Benny shrugged. “You got me, brotha.”

“Well how do we get out then?”

“‘S that mean you’re agreein’ to work with me?”

Crowley looked at Cas. An unspoken conversation along the lines of: _what do you think?_ Followed by: _what other option do we have right now?_. “Yes.” The angel spoke, nodding his head once. “We will work with you. I am Castiel, this is Crowley.”

The Vampire shook their hands with a smile. “Name’s Benny.”

***

“Well, square eyes. Looks like you’re in luck.” Meg was leaning against the doorway, practically swinging back and forth around the door-jamb, that lazy smile back in place.

Kevin hated her. He hated her completely and totally. He probably shouldn’t hate her as much as he did, should do the whole ‘bonding with your captor’, but frankly? She made his skin crawl. Maybe it was the underlying contempt in her voice, even when her words were occasionally friendly? Or maybe it was just that she was evil, and he could… tell? 

He decided to stare at her wordlessly until she explained on her own. He didn’t have to wait long, because she clearly loved the sound of her own voice.

“Here,” she said, and put down a sheet of paper on the table. It was a rubbing, a wax crayon pressed on paper held over what he assumed was another tablet. She didn’t trust him with the actual thing? 

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Bedtime reading. Found this stashed away in one of my boss’ old hidey-holes. Want you to do your magic on it.”

Kevin stared at the scratchings. He still didn’t know how, but the weird, angular markings sort of… clicked in his head. It was like staring at a dream made real, because the _sense_ was there, all incorporeal and it sort of felt like a haze around reality. Calling it ‘reading’ or ‘translating’ was woefully inadequate. He could sort of see the blur around the marks, but it was lessened, somehow.

“It starting to make any sense?” Meg pushed. 

The Prophet turned the paper through one hundred and eighty degrees, but it still wasn’t right. Like it was sort of out of focus, or something. “I can’t read this.”

“Sure you can. I saw the dick tablet, remember? Same kind of thing. Just this is a different edition.”

“Well… I can’t read it. Maybe if you’d give me the original tablet, I might…” To be fair, with time he might be able to translate this rubbing she’d provided, but if she was hiding it then it was for a reason. Or, perhaps she had once had it, and now no longer had? Besides, anything he could do to delay her would only be a good thing for him, in the long run.

“You can read this instead,” she insisted.

“...who is the Prophet?” he asked, crumpling the sheet up into a ball, then launching it into the corner of his room. “I can’t do it with that. I need the original.”

“Need I remind you that I know everything there is to know about Kevin Tran, of Neighbour, Michigan? And I do mean _everything_?”

He doubted that, but then he wasn’t sure where she was going with this, so he simply frowned at her. 

“Like, say… your pretty little beau Channing? My… she is an attractive one, isn’t she? Lovely face. Think maybe you’re punching a bit above your weight with her. Looks and smarts? Not a common combination.”

“You wouldn’t _dare_.”

“Wouldn’t I? Maybe not. But there’s plenty of people who follow me who might. Might bring here here as a cheerleader. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Some moral support from someone you know? Maybe get her to scream: ‘Oh Kevin, please help the nice demons, please’?”

If he gave in it would show he was weak, or that he’d been lying. He had to stand his ground, to keep some boundaries of his own. “I need. The original. And threatening my girlfriend isn’t the way to make me help you. Giving me what I need to do what you want _is_.”

She stared at him, then. A long, slow, unblinking stare. Kevin returned it - his jaw set - until his eyes felt gritty and dry from not blinking. She barely seemed to be bothered by holding out, and now it was a matter of pride.

“Fine,” she said in the end. “I’ll get you the original, but you’ll be under supervision at all times with it. And I expect to see some results, boy-o.”

“As fast as I can,” he lied.

She pushed off from the door, and sauntered away.

Kevin breathed a heavy sigh when he was convinced she was out of earshot. He’d been acting brave, sure, but in reality? He’d nearly wet himself with fear.

***

It was Crowley’s turn to rest when they stopped, the three of them huddled against a large tree. Castiel sat on the ground, leaning up against the trunk while Crowley laid his head in the angel’s lap and closed his eyes. Cas was absent-mindedly running his fingers through the demon’s hair when he noticed Benny watching them with a smirk. 

The angel tried not to get defensive - after all, the Vampire had been good to them and kept his word so far, but the smirk made him a bit uneasy.

“Never thought I’d see an angel and the King a’ Hell in love. ‘Course, never thought I’d run into either one a’ ya in here, but here we are.”

“Crowley is different. He’s not like other demons.”

“I coulda told you that much. Ain’t no demon I’ve ever seen love someone better’n humans love each other.” Benny paused for a moment, scanning the area once more. “I still don’t think he’s much of a demon, but if you say he is, I’m inclined to believe ya, angel.”

The seraph rested his head against the tree, still stroking his fingers idly through Crowley’s hair. The silence was almost deafening, but it **was** instrumental in hearing a threat approach.

“How’s it work?” The look of sincerity on the Vampire’s face was almost shocking.

“How’s what work?”

“Bein’ a monster… livin’ in society… ‘s it any different, I mean. Wasn’t so easy back in my day.”

“It’s not so easy these days. For anyone. There’s been so many advances in technology and the Hunters… they’re … they can be ruthless.” He was thinking of Dean, of course. Dean would not be happy they were bringing a Vampire out. _Find another way_. That’s what his charge would say. But there was **no** other way. “They might be after you for… should you… you know… _feed_.”

“Oh, I don’t eat off nobody. I ain’t that kinda Vamp.”

“But… don’t you need blood?”

“I do… but I feed on blood, not people.”

The angel narrowed his eyes, head tilting to the side. He thought for a moment, looking at him intently. “Animals?”

“Do the best with what ya got, right?”

The angel nodded. He looked down at Crowley and couldn’t help but smile. He wondered what thoughts were keeping his demon’s eyes closed and the hint of happiness on his lips. He looked back up at Benny after a moment. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“What? Not eatin’ people?”

“No… _us_.” He looked down at the King in his lap. 

“Why the Hell would it bother me? Somebody out there for everyone, so they say.” He smiled as he twisted his weapon in his hand.

Castiel returned the expression, relieved. Perhaps he was wrong about monsters in general. Even after being exposed to this - for lack of a better word - Hell hole for centuries, Benny still believed in things like love and happiness. The angel supposed if he was left here, the only thing that would keep him going was the thought that perhaps one day, maybe, he might be reunited with his love again. 

He leaned down to kiss Crowley’s forehead gently. He had been wrong about a lot of things, he realised that now. It didn’t stop the nerves that Crowley was still angry with him somewhere deep down inside, though he _knew_ the demon was **not** angry. It didn’t stop his mind from wandering off when they had a few moments of downtime to thoughts of why the trees appeared so dead if they weren’t in fact dead, just merely suspended in some sort of wasteland… everything was dark and dreary as though a storm were perpetually on the horizon. But the storm never came. There was no rain to wash away the grime and _filth_ that was Purgatory. Only the occasional stream of water that was just as grey and dreary as the sky. 

Maybe the storm _was_ coming… maybe this temporary state of non-anger was just something to keep everyone going, to keep them searching for a way out. Cas lowered his eyes once more to Crowley. The demon turned his head towards the angel, eyes still closed, and sighed. A tiny grin tugged at the corner of Crowley’s lips and Cas _knew_ the thoughts in his mind were incorrect. He was Crowley’s, and Crowley was his. There were no lies or deception in this relationship. The only monsters or storms that Castiel was seeing were in his head, and his head alone. He was still fragile from the entire ordeal, but everyday spent with Crowley, every kiss, every _I love you_ was pulling the angel back from the labyrinth of crazy that his mind was trying to create.

“Thank you.” Castiel’s voice felt lower than normal and cracked the slightest bit as he spoke.

“You talkin’ to me?” Benny asked.

“Yes. Thank you. I believe you’re the one of the first to be accepting of Crowley and I. The only one who didn’t point out - as though I was unaware - that he is, in fact, a demon.”

Benny shrugged. “Like I said. Love ain’t easy to come by… everybody deserves their shot at it.”

The angel nodded once more. “You are remarkable.”

“I ain’t nothin’ special, angel. Just been around a good while… not unlike yourself.”

“That is true. I’ve been here for a very long time, and I remember many things. I observed humanity for so _very_ long, but I never even began to understand them. Not until recently. You are much more well-versed in humanity than I.” He took a deep breath in, trying to remember the way the garden in Perth smelled. The faintest memory of flowers and pollen and honey were _just_ out of reach, it seemed. Another sigh. “I wish I had a better understanding… I’m trying, though.”

_I’m trying_.

***

“What is it?” Cecily asked, trotting into the King of Hell’s office as fast as she could. “I came the minute you called.”

“It’s those… Hunters. You know the ones.”

“Oh?” Cecily perked up. The Winchesters - for all they were ignorant, racist and blood-thirsty? They were go-getters, and at times they could be more useful than they were annoying.

“They did a ritual to summon a crossroads demon.”

Now that made less sense. Cecily tipped her head to one side. “Totes not like them. Not any more, anyway.”

“Yeah, what I thought too. After how they treated you when you went in peace…”

She waved it off with a shrug. “I’m so over that. They were like that with Crowley, too. I think it’s just their way of saying ‘howdy partner’. So… what did they have to say?”

Scotty shrugged. “No one’s gone to see them.”

“...no one?” Okay. Weird. “Why not?”

“Well, the minute they buried their box, I got the call from Ash. Said they thought maybe I’d want to cinch such a sweet deal. But honestly? I think they’re all scared.”

“Well… I ‘spose that’s sensible,” Cecily agreed. “But doesn’t someone _have_ to go? Like, maybe, you?”

His eyes darted away from her, and she could tell _he_ was nervous, too. “Yeah. Like maybe me.”

“...you think it’s a trap?”

“I’m pretty damn sure it’s a trap.”

“Well. I could totes come, like, from further away. In case they do something.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Why didn’t demons just come out and say what it was they wanted? Cecily fought a roll of her eyes, brushing her hair back behind her ear even though she was sure it didn’t need it. “Come on, King. They’re not as bad as you think. I promise.”

Well. Probably not as bad as he thought.

***

Scotty appeared at the crossroads, surprised when there wasn’t a trap under his feet. “So. The infamous Winchester brothers.” He tried to keep his voice level, but really? The tales told in Hell about them - the _boy King_ who was Lucifer’s true vessel, and the Righteous Man who had broken under Alastair’s tutelage were things of nightmares.

“And who the Hell are you?” the shorter one - Dean? - asked.

“Currently King of the Crossroads, and temporarily King of Hell.”

“Temporarily?”

The demon nodded. “Scotius. I’m holding the fort until the rightful King returns. So…” he clapped his hands together, head to one side. “You want to make a deal?”

“Nope. Just want to chat.”

“I’m a busy demon. You do know this is--”

“Something you’re gonna want to hear. You really still loyal to that horny midget? Not - say - happy he’s gone so you can fill the big… or not-so-big shoes?”

There was the sound of clicking heels from behind the two brothers, and he watched them turn - hefting weapons ready - but lowering them a little when they saw it was Cecily.

“Hello, boys.” Her voice was a cheerful change from Dean’s gruff, angry bark. “See you’ve met Scotius. He’s cool, guys. He’s one of the good guys.”

The taller Hunter - Sam - just shook his head, but Dean turned his back on her with a roll of his eyes. Damned humans. Where did they get off thinking they were so much better than them?

“So you see, we’re still loyal. I’m guessing that’s why you made a crossroads offering instead of tried doing a summoning? Not sure who you’d get if you summoned?” Cecily asked, clicking around to stand by Scotty’s side.

“Yeah. No offence, but Hell’s own internal politics isn’t really our concern,” Sam answered. “We’re here because we want Cas back, and we want Kevin, too.”

“That would be the Prophet?” Scotty asked. 

“Meg took him.”

Cecily sighed. “Yeah, I heard some chatter about that. She’s been off looking for something. Bit like Dick was.”

“You mean, tablets?” Dean asked.

Cecily shrugged. “It’s hard to keep an eye on her. She--”

“She what?” Sam pushed. 

“She… is difficult to keep tabs on,” Cecily admitted. “It was hard enough when she was by her lonesome, obvs, but now she’s got kind of… a cult?”

“Demons have cults?” Dean was rolling his eyes again. Scotty thought if he kept doing that, one day they might just drop clean out of his head. 

“You know, we’re not so alike from humans, Dean. We used to be human, after all… and we’re just as prone to factions, to loyalties, to ambition and need as you.” Scotty was trying very hard not to let his anger get the better of him, but he wasn’t sure how Cecily was keeping so cool. “From what we’ve heard, Meg is trying to go back to the good old days. You know: Lucifer, Azazel… and whatever she’s up to, she’s got some followers to back her up.”

“So. Long boring story short: we need Cas and Kevin, and you want the King of Smarm back, and Meg gone. That about sum it up?” The elder brother had one thumb tucked under his belt, his fingers drumming restlessly. 

“Sounds right to me.”

“And that’s it. That’s the limit of our involvement. We work with you to get Crowley back from wherever he’s gone - if it’s even possible, that is - and in return you help us with our friends. No kissing, no contracts, no souls, no Hellhounds. Just a verbal agreement.”

For Hell’s sake, the King thought. Were they really that insecure? “Of course. Verbal contracts are worth the paper they’re written on, but if you are really that intimidated by me, I’m not going to force you into something.” Not that he wanted a real deal. He was fairly sure that even the interregnum ruler would need more than a kiss for it to be truly binding. “And in return, you promise you won’t attack me, Cecily, Crowley, or any demon you know to be working for us… and we promise to keep our guys off your back in return. Sound fair?”

“How will we get in touch with you?” Sam asked. 

“Cell phone, sweetie?” Cecily asked, holding out her hand.

A frown, a set of glances exchanged, and then Sam tossed one over.

Cecily put her number in, took a picture of herself beaming, and then threw it back over with a wink. “Now you can see my face when I call you.”

“Don’t you want our numbers?”

“Oh, _please_ , boys, I’ve had them since - well - forevs. You’re so cute!”

Dean shuddered like something had walked over his grave. “Okay. Not cool, but whatever. We’ll be in touch, okay? And you let us know if you find anything out about Kevin.”

Scotty didn’t want to touch him, but he could see Dean wanted it less, and he was just spiteful enough to hold his hand out and wait. Dean didn’t budge, but neither did Scotty. Green eyes glared up at him, and he was sure the Hunter was trying to work out what would happen if the second in line to the throne was taken out of the equation, but then he thought better of it and just glared.

“Really? Not even a gentlemanly shake? Even though we’re all getting what we want out of this?”

“Don’t push your luck, Vice-Dick.”

“You really are as charming as I’d heard.”

“Oh, guys, you can stop comparing sizes,” Cecily said, stepping forwards and linking her arm around Scotty’s, tugging it down. “Now wasn’t this much better than fighting? Nope? Well. Don’t be strangers… peace!”

Scotty waited until the two brothers went back to their car and drove off before he stopped watching them (in case they decided to change their minds on the whole ‘partnership’ thing). 

“Are they always that friendly?”

“Yeppers. But you were so perfect.” The female demon was resting her head on his shoulder, a bubbly purr in her throat. “And it is so much better that they want to work with us, instead of that horrible Meg.”

“You really got nothing on where she is?”

Cecily chewed her lip. “N-not… quite.”

Scotty laughed. “I knew it. C’mon. Let’s go back to Hell and we can work on our battle plan?”

“Sure thing, sweetie!”

“I think you mean: ‘My King’?”

A laugh and she nuzzled at his cheek. “Sure thing, _King_.”


	60. Chapter 60

In the distance, the portal glowed. Here in Purgatory, where the only bright things were himself and the oblique glow around his King, it was like a revelation all of itself. Benny had said the portal had been left in case a human was trapped in here, and Castiel could practically _see_ his father’s fingerprints smearing through it. Maybe it was because of the contrast, seeing something so divine in a place as cursed as this? Whatever it was, it was _right_. It made him feel homesick, for Heaven as well as the home he’d made with the King. For the first time in a long time, he thought there was maybe a chance to get free.

“So that’s it,” Benny said, nodding at the shimmering doorway. “Purty, huh?”

The demon whistled in low appreciation, before he sucked his lips in, deep in thought. “Well. Now we’ve found it. I suppose we have to work out if it’s going to frazzle us for daring approach… though I think if anyone’s safe, it’s Castiel, here.”

Cas snorted. “I think, by now, that we’ve proven I am… more fallen than angel. The spell worked with my blood, as well as yours, remember?”

“You still sparkle like the fourth of July, I don’t think you got much to worry about. Though, ‘cause you ain’t much of a human, and ain’t never been one, that’s my only worry...” Benny grinned, looking next at Crowley. “And you. King of Hell you might be, but you don’t look like the rest of ‘em here. If anyone not human can go through, it’s gonna be you.”

“Still. Place like this? There’s got to be teeth, fangs, claws all around,” Crowley said, running a hand over his jaw, scratching at the bristly beard he just could not trim, nor did he dare try with the angel blades that were their only tools. “We make a run on it, we better be ready to go through. We won’t get two chances at this.” 

“Now… you gonna make good on your end of the deal?” the Vampire asked, eyes suddenly flitting from one to the other.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Cas frowned. “We always keep our bargains, our deals.”

“What Sparkles said,” Crowley agreed. “Even if this wasn’t contractually binding, I’m not the sort to back out on a genuine arrangement. We get out, you get out.”

“See. That’s the thing.” The Vampire looked a little shifty. “Only ways I can think of, is to get carried along with. I know a spell, so you--” he nodded to Cas, “can take me inside of your - vessel, ain’t it? And then, when you get out, you just bleed on mah bones, and we’re all square. You follow?”

“I see. And where will we find your bones?” Cas asked.

“Clayton. Louisiana. You just put my soul right back in place, and I swear I won’t eat a single ‘nother soul, for long as I live this time around.”

“You have been a good friend, Benny.” The angel clasped him on the shoulder. “I did not believe I would ever… befriend a Vampire, but you have proven me wrong.”

“Yeah, well, if you said I’d meet you guys in this place, back when I was human - even when I was a Vamp… well.” He saluted with two fingers to the temple. “Been an honour.”

Cas cast the spell, letting the Vampire’s soul inside. He realised - a moment too late - that letting extra souls in was sort of what had led him to this hellhole in the first place, but it was simply one Vampire. After thousands upon thousands of creatures inside of him, including the monstrosity that had been Dick and his kin… one Vampire was barely a drop in the ocean. He could feel him inside, but it was not that gnawing, hungry feeling, just the vaguest sensation of ‘other’ alongside his dimmed Grace.

Then it was done, and all that was left was the escape attempt. There was no point in delaying any longer, because that would give the monsters chance to formulate strategy. No. Now, or never. The angel grabbed at the demon’s hand, and smiled shakily at him. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, sweetheart. No matter what.”

Cas seemed to accept that, and with his angel blade in his hand, he was suddenly running flat out towards the light with Crowley right behind him. As predicted, a swarm of monsters descended upon them, and Cas fought them off like a whirling dervish, dispatching twisted soul after twisted soul. Down they went, the fresh piling upon the recently deceased, monster on monster. Adrenaline and the possibility of freedom made his limbs fast and his blows sure. Crowley was right there, and they were - oh _no_ \- the light ahead was fading, and Cas’ step faltered.

Was it him? Or was it Crowley? Was it the Vampire? Would the door hold, if they kept going? It didn’t look happy to see them, and Cas ripped the head clean off a Leviathan’s shoulders. “Crowley, I don’t--”

“ _Run_ , angel…”

“It’s not going to hold,” Cas argued.

“Get the **Hell** through it, and open the door from the other side! **Go** , Cas. GO!”

Castiel cast one last, lingering glance at the flickering hope for freedom… no. He could run, like Crowley had said. He could try to escape through it and hope for the best. Try to open the door from the other side in the hopes that somehow only the demon would break free… but even as he saw that earnest, love-struck fear on his demon’s face… _no_. He had abandoned him one too many times. He had run away, when he should have run towards.

It was time to change that. Castiel kicked up leaves as he turned with a pace, pounding back towards the King who was now holding steadfast, battling a sudden influx of beasts. Ignoring Crowley’s angry (but secretly pleased?) yelling, he went to fight back to back with him.

Together. They were stronger together. He’d learned the lesson, at long last.

It was an age before they’d cleared enough of a path to make a run for it, heading back into the dark woods, side by side.

***

Balthazar was wearing a black, lacy overbust corset, his lips smeared with red, eyes darkly shadowed and hair in a disarray. He tottered slightly on his too-high heels, flinging back the trail of his boa over one shoulder. “My Dad, boys, do you _ever_ stop whining? No wonder poor Cassie went mad, if you prayed to him even half as much as you have to me. You ever get the feeling that - perhaps - you’re the clingy ex? It’s enough to drive _me_ to going God.”

Sam blinked at the angel in the high-heels and fishnets, not really sure where to put his eyes. “Uhm. Did we call at a bad time?”

The red-haired girl next to Balthazar crossed her arms over her white bra a bit shyly as she eyed the two men staring at them. 

Dean furrowed his brow. “Whatever the Hell _this_ is, we’re just gonna ride right past that because we got something important to talk to you about.”

“Well _hot patootie_ to you, too. I’ll have you know I’ve put an entire auditorium into time-out so that I can enjoy my Friday night in peace,” the angel scoffed, then he shuffled about a bit, pulled his corset forwards and then fished out some rice, which he scattered on the floor. “Please can we just get this over with, so my lovely lady friend and I can go back to the pelvic thrusting?”

“...yeah. Uh. We need to get into Purgatory. Without letting all the nasties out,” Sam said, keen to get this conversation back on the straight and narrow. Or something. “And we only carried on praying so much because you’re our last hope and you didn’t come when we asked nicely for the last… year?”

“What am I, your dog?” Balthazar huffed, narrowing his perfectly-smudged kohl eyes. “And the last I heard, Purgatory came with the spiritual equivalent of the clap, so I’d say it’s a big no-no re-opening that can of worms, no matter what’s got your boringly pedestrian panties in a twist.”

“Wait… Purgatory?” the girl offered, dropping her hands down by her sides. “You wanna hack in there, it’s easy… if you know the right Reaper, that is.”

“Reaper?” Dean asked. He looked at Sam. “Do you think Tessa--”

“Tessa won’t - she only plays by the rules. But I might be able to be swayed… possibly.”

“What, you’re a Reaper?” Dean looked at Balthazar. “A _Reaper_? Really?” He had no idea who he expected the angel to be hanging out with, but he’d only met the one Reaper… they didn’t seem the sociable type.

“Dean, Dean, Dean. You really _do_ live a sheltered, Puritanical life, don’t you?” Balthazar snickered at him, shaking his head. An arm slung around the pretty young thing’s waist, his cheek pushed to hers. “My little April here is _quite_ the firecracker. Once you go special, you don’t ever go back.” Balthazar winked, but the leer that remained on his face afterwards was downright predatory.

“...SO,” Sam said loudly, trying to break the moment. “What kind of - uh - persuasion are we talking about?”

April smirked at Dean, then turned to Sam. “I don’t know. Something that makes it worth my while. And be sure, I’m not easy to please… after all, I spend my time with this guy,” she nodded towards Balthazar.

“So what the Hell can we even begin to offer you, then? Why even bother mentioning it?” Dean shook his head. “This was a waste of time,” he mumbled to Sam.

The angel ran his nose through her hair, then sashayed perfectly over on those heels (proving he could, if he wanted to) until he could drape an arm over each of their shoulders. “Well,” he stage-whispered, in Dean’s ear, “...she does have _very_ expensive, esoteric, dare I say? _Outré_ tastes. But maybe you two can offer something… non-physical?”

“Like?” Sam asked, pushing Balthazar’s arm from his shoulder and backing up. 

“Well… if nothing else, I’m sure a favour **owed** from the two noisiest, messiest Hunters wouldn’t go amiss, would it?” the angel asked, cocking his head to one side. “No questions asked. She says jump, and you do it.”

April put her hands on her hips after smoothing her pink pencil skirt a bit. “I think I can dig that… What do you say boys?”

Dean hated to be in debt to people, but this seemed to be the only option they had. He looked at Sam once more to see what he thought.

“So how does it work?” Sam asked, in lieu of saying ‘yes’.

“What you think I’m just gonna _tell_ you? No, no. That’s not how this works. I can get you in, and back out. If you agree to my terms.” 

Sam shrugged. “Sure, we agree… except we’re not going to do anything like kill one another just for your amusement. Or innocent people. That sound fair?”

“Oh, spoil sports. The whole ‘no questions asked’ is supposed to be just that… but I think April is too nice to demand you fight to the death in a ring of green jello… _probably_.” The angel pushed off from Dean and waltzed back over to his lady friend.

“A green jello death match _does_ sound exciting… but to be honest, it only makes more work for me and I’m on an extended vacation of sorts. I’ll agree to your terms. No Winchester deaths and no innocents.”

“Alright, then. Tell us how to get in there.” Dean said, clapping his hands together once.

“Hang on, cheekbones,” Balthazar said, raising a hand. “I told you, I have an auditorium on time-out. We’ll set a play date, and then you can all toddle off into the land of bump-in-the-night… but tomorrow.” Hands together, a little bow. “Please.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine. Tomorrow. What should we bring? Can we take anything through with us?”

“I’d suggest a weapon - and a good one at that. Gets pretty rough in there. See you boys tomorrow.”

Balthazar blew Dean a kiss. “And some good shoes. Can’t have you fighting monsters in pumps or kitten heels now, can we?”

***

“You know,” Crowley panted, when they had finally shaken their pursuers long enough to speak, his paces slowing to a brisk jog instead of a flat-out run, “...if you’d gone through, maybe you’d have been able to open the door back open. Just for me.”

“I couldn’t leave you here, Crowley. There’d be no guarantee that I could get the door open again. I can’t… I can’t be without you again.”

“Well, much as tactically I think it might have been a mistake, I’m not going to complain about you choosing me over freedom, now, am I? Demon, remember.” No matter what that stupid Vampire had said. He came to a halt, one hand on his side to ease the stitch there, the other clutching the angel’s arm, reassuring himself he was still there. “So now I guess… we’re stuck.”

“Yes… demon filth.” The angel smiled. He rubbed at his arm where Benny was trapped inside Castiel’s vessel. “I suppose so.” The seraph’s voice was quiet, solemn. He didn’t want to be stuck here - not that Crowley did either - and he had thrown away a chance at freedom. But what was freedom without his King?

“Now what do we do?” His eyes were wide as he took in the demon’s features which were no doubt - just as worried as his own.

Crowley straightened himself up, and swallowed. “That’s the Million Dollar Question right there, angel… Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find an asexual monster, and somehow magic up an eclipse of the moon, or…” It was just… beyond his ability to think. All his mind kept saying was: there is nothing. And then it baulked, and blanked, and he just… stopped. “Guess we find another stooge to torture for intel, hmm?” 

But that sounded weak even to his own ears, and staying chipper and positive in the face of an eternity in here was taking its toll. 

“You heard Benny. There’s no other way.” The angel was defeated. They’d tried. They’d failed. Now here they were again. Stuck in this… in this bleak and somber place with all hope of escape snatched away from them. “At least we have each other.” Cas offered a weak smile to his demon.

Crowley reached up, wrapping his fingers around the angel’s nape and scruff, rubbing reassuringly. “Yep. Which is more than anything or anyone else in this place has. Not my ideal honeymoon destination, but I meant what I said before. It was… I wasn’t _living_ , Cas. I’d take this any day of the week.” 

The demon tugged his angel down, making him bend so they could touch foreheads together. “We’ll work it out, angel. This is just a momentary setback. You know me: if there’s a way to get what I want, I get it…”

Cas let his own hand wrap around the back of Crowley’s neck, thumb rubbing at the demon’s hairline. “Do you think… do you think they’re looking for us?” He didn’t have to specify who.

Were they? It was an interesting question. Sam and Dean might be looking for Cas, but only if they needed his services, probably. He’d seen there was still love missing from the Winchesters when he’d joined their little Ewok rebellion. Would they think it was good to be over and done with him, and leave him to his own devices with Crowley? 

Then there was Hell. Sure, they were loyal to him… when he was there. But a King gone was a King useless, as he’d shown when without Lucifer or Azazel he’d taken over. Not to mention, if he was missing it meant progression up the chain for almost everyone, and even if Cecily had been a friend to him, she was ambitious and smart and why wouldn’t she see it as an opportunity for herself? 

...and did anyone even know _where they were_?

“I’m sure they are,” Crowley lied. Sort of lied. “Probably working just as hard as we are. We’ll turn around one day and there they’ll be… unless we find the way out first.”

Castiel’s lips pressed together in a thin line. He only half-believed the Winchesters were looking for them. “I hope so… well… I also hope they don’t open the door the way we did. It would be foolish of them to risk letting Dick out again.”

He let his eyes meet Crowley’s and pressed their lips together. “I love your kisses. They never fail to make me smile.”

A finger bent, and under his chin, holding him still for another kiss. Another. They had been so long without kisses, and Crowley would take what comfort he could in this desolate wasteland. “Well, I’ll have to keep giving you them, then. I can’t have my kitten sad now, can I?” Kisses over his cheek, up to the creased lines beside his eye, over his temple and up to the filthy, matted hair. “It will all be alright, angel. It will all be alright. God loves you. You won’t suffer forever.” He wished he believed it as much as he needed to.

“If God brings me back from this without you, I _will_ suffer forever. At least until I have you back. I have no interest in leaving here if it means leaving you.”

“Well, if he does? You can just use your influence to find me again. I mean… look. We know of three ways in from the other side, and one way out. It can’t be impossible. It just can’t.” He pulled the angel down - arching up to his tiptoes - and kissed over his forehead, then pushed the angel’s head under his chin, arms wrapping around him. “We both tried alone, and alone didn’t work out so well for either of us. But we’ve got to keep trying. Always keep trying. If you feel like giving up… don’t. I’ll be right here for you, Cas. I always will.”

Castiel nuzzled against Crowley’s neck, somewhat getting used to the feeling of his untrimmed beard and wrapped his arms around the demon tightly. “I love you, Crowley. And you know I’ll always be right here for _you_.”

The angel snapped his head in the direction of the faintest noise he heard, unsure if it was something coming for them or just his imagination. “We should keep moving. It’s not safe here.”

Of course. That was life, here. The constant low thrum of paranoia, being convinced that something was out to kill you. A tighter squeeze and then he stepped back.

"Good. I'd just caught my breath, after all. Nothing like a good run for your life to keep things interesting, hey, kitten?" A tilt of his head, and they set out again.


	61. Chapter 61

“It’s a spell,” Kevin said. 

“Well, I thought as much, considering the last tablet was all about how to kill the gooey, slimy freaks. What kind of spell?”

“The tablet is called ‘Demons’, and it keeps going on about some… Demon Gate? No. Not demon. Devil? Devil Gate.”

Meg’s brow arched. “Listening.”

“It’s not a place name like we use, it’s sort of a… feeling. Like. An image in the back of my mind. Maybe if you gave me a map of the States I could pinpoint it.”

The demon nodded. “Sure thing, I’ll rustle one right up. What else does it say?”

“Well, it gives the steps on how to do it. Says if it’s done, it’ll let loads of demons come to Earth.”

Her eyes glittered. Interesting. Like the one that had freed Lilith. She wondered who she could bring back with it. Maybe someone useful? Someone who shared her dislike for Crowley and the annoying dick who had taken his place, with his stupid red hair and his stupid wandering accent. Scrotum, or something, she wasn’t sure. “So, what do you need for this spell?”

“I can give you a list of things. Some of them look… difficult. Like… West Bank witch hazel, the… skull of an Egyptian calf, the tail of… well it sounds like some random-ass newt, that may or may not be extinct…”

“Write it all down for me. I’ll go get that map. You’ve done real good, you know? Might have to move you to better digs.”

Kevin nodded, trying to feign muted relief. In reality, he was silently shitting bricks in case she worked out he wasn’t trying to open a Devil Gate at all… he was working on the section of the tablet that explained - in graphic detail - how to blow a demon up. 

“See you around, short stuff.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure you will.”

He’d have to send her far, far away. She was probably a bit too smart to let him wipe her out, after all. But if he put distance between them and took down some mooks, well… maybe he’d buy enough time to escape.

***

Cecily knew the Winchesters had summoned Balthazar but wasn't sure what went down. She knew it was something involving Purgatory and she was - naturally - quite curious as to the specifics of the conversation. She wasted no time in heading over to their cabin, only to find it was just Dean waiting for her.

Dean nodded a hello at her, his lips thin. It sat wrong with him working with yet another demon, but they sort of did owe Cas. Sure he'd gone crazy and all, but he'd tried to fix his mess and he'd meant to help Sam and that's what family did even when you fucked up, right?

"Got any news on Kevin?" he asked to start. No point giving up intel without trying to get some in return.

“Nothing yet. It seems she knows all the tricks of tracking and how to avoid them. But I’m not giving up hope.” She flashed the Hunter a toothy smile. “So, what’s up. I take it _you_ have something?”

Another nod. "Got me a way in. And out. Hopefully only bringing back who we need." He should probably tell her more, but she didn't inspire him with deep, surging trust and warm fuzzies. "I'm going in tonight. So if you've got any good weapons up your sleeve..."

“Don’t forget Crowley,” she smiled. A warning smile. And then winked. They were friends here - friends because they _had_ to be. “I could probs rustle up an angel blade for ya, unless you’ve already got one?”

"Well I wouldn't say no to more. Whatever we find in there ain't gonna be friendly." A shrug. "Don't think I can forget your boss even if I try. More's the pity." Remember and retrieve were two different things.

"Why you so loyal anyway? Isn't your boyfriend in charge now?"

Another smile: less threatening, more genuine. “Crowley is…” Special to me… my friend… “Crowley is my King. Scotius is only holding down the fort until Crowley puts him back in charge of the Crossroads. Besides, he’s done a lot for me.” And I’ve done a lot for him. 

"Won't lover boy be upset about the demotion?" Dean pushed. "Hell of a thing to give up on."

“Scotty was well aware of the terms and conditions when he took the _temporary_ position. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Deano. Now… just so I know what to expect, you’re no opening the door like Crowley and Castiel did are you? I don’t think I can handle any more Dick in my life.”

Really? He snorted, and not in a nice way. "The only dicks I'm bringing back are the ones we know and love. And I got me a back way in. Reaper, if you must know. They take ‘em down there in the first place."

***

“So. You going to tell me why you want a lift in and out?” April asked, perched on the low wall, legs swinging below her. 

“I gotta get some people out.”

She rolled her eyes at him “Well. No one goes in there for a honeymoon, you know.” 

“And here was me thinking this would be our first date. You’re not going steady with guyliner are you?”

“Balthazar?” She snorted. “There is nothing steady about him. It’s why I like him. Bit of fun, no hang-ups, just whatever makes everyone happy. He’s not your run-of-the-mill angel, that’s for sure.”

“Nope. Can’t accuse him of that.” 

“So who are we going after? I say ‘we’, but really it’s ‘you’. I’ll open the door and take you in, then I’ll show you the rendez-vous, and I’ll come back in twenty-four hours.”

“You think that’ll be enough?”

Her laugh was sharp. “A human suddenly appearing in Purgatory? And a Hunter - a Winchester - no less? It’ll spread like wildfire. If I leave you in any longer, you won’t be able to shake any tail you get. And I am _not_ a school bus. But you keep avoiding my question. Is it because you think I’ll say no?”

Dean sighed. She wasn’t going to let it go, was she? “No. It’s… a friend of mine - an angel - he sort of took down something nasty and we _think_ it landed him in there.”

“So why is the King of Hell there, too?”

Green eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”

“Little bird. And no, I don’t mean Balthazar. I just wondered if you’d admit to your plan or not. Interesting. I _was_ told to make sure you brought everyone back.”

Cecily. It had to be that damn bitch. No wonder Crowley liked her. 

“Yeah, well. Turns out my friend has god-awful taste. Crowley helped us ice Dick, and he went poof along with Cas. If he’s around, then I’ll bring him back, too.” He knew she’d been briefed that he might not try so hard on that front, or even not prevent any mishaps befalling the demon, so it was a weak lie.

“Well, I’m being paid well to ensure he’s part of the return trip baggage, Dean. So you better make your best efforts to bring him, or I’ll be honour-bound to report the facts.”

“Just open the damn door.”

She nodded, pushing to her feet, and waving the world thin. “Right this way.”

***

It was easier than he thought it would be to get Meg to go to Wisconsin. Much easier. She’d left two of the biggest men - well, demons-in-men - that Kevin had ever seen in his life. He’d witnessed first-hand that even the slightest built demon was incredibly powerful, but it was probably for the added intimidation that she’d picked body-guards who looked like they could bench press elephants.

“Hurry up,” the one that Kevin had dubbed El Unibrow Fantastico ordered, a look of extreme disgust on his face. “Boss ain’t got all day.”

Well technically she did, but Kevin wasn’t going to explain that, was he?

“I’m almost done,” he said, instead, which was actually the truth. He sprinkled the last ingredients in the bowl, then picked up the spell. It was in Latin, which was weird because he didn’t speak Latin, but then he didn’t think he spoke God either this time last year. 

Unibrow went back to standing with those arms like tree-trunks crossed over his chest, and Silent But Ugly continued to be both quiet and unattractive. Kevin rattled through the words, making sure his tongue didn’t slur over any of the syllables, and then - _bam_. He had to put his hand up to shield his eyes, because the sudden flash of light was incredible and left after-images dancing across his retinas. Weirdly there was no heat, but the demons were disintegrated immediately. All that was left was a pile of ash and a shadow on the wall silhouetting their final positions. 

Wow.

It had worked. The demon-killing spell had really worked. Which meant that all the other things in the tablet - the Traps, the exorcism spells, the salt and the anti-possession sigils… all of that probably was true, too. It felt weird to have somehow doubted the Word of God, but Kevin was still finding it hard to believe there _was_ such a thing as God. He guessed it made him the worst Prophet ever. 

They’d untied him for the ritual, and it was easy enough to find the keys to the door in the piles of ash on the floor. Easier still to open it slowly and slip out. He had no idea where ‘here’ was, but it looked like a warehouse of some kind, and if he could just get his hands on some paint or chalk, he’d be able to protect himself no matter where he went. Wondering how long it would be before the lack of a door, or the lack of her minions answering her calls would alert Meg to the fact something was up, he went on a quick recce of the building, stuffing a gun, knife and some candy into his pockets.

Ah! A cell phone. He’d memorised the numbers the Winchesters had given him in case of emergency and punched one in.

Ring ring. Ring ring.

“Agent Anderson,” came the familiar voice down the line.

“Sam, Sam it’s me! Kevin. Look, I need your help.”


	62. Chapter 62

“Stand back! I can exorcise you!”

It looked like a young man in a red and white fast-food server’s outfit, but Kevin was not about to take the chance. The outfit was ridiculous, like something out of the distant past, and had the ‘Weiner Hut’ logo branded all over the shirt and baseball cap. Kevin wondered if he’d picked that meatsuit to look dorky and non-threatening, or if the demon inside had a sense of humour, or even if it was just the closest thing with a pulse.

“You could try,” the other being said with a quirk of his lips. “But it wouldn’t work. I’m an angel, Kevin Tran, and I’m in this body under express permission.”

Kevin didn’t have any holy water on him, and the quick search of his warehouse prison hadn’t revealed any salt. Not that either thing would make much sense for his captors to have. Still, the tablet had said demons could cure most injuries and so that would be a good indicator that something was wrong. He cocked the gun with a hand that wanted to shake and levelled it. “Don’t come any closer. I’m not going back. I can shoot you full of holes and…”

“You could,” the angel-or-demon agreed, “but it wouldn’t hurt an angel, either. I’m Samandriel, Kevin. And I’m here to try help protect you.”

Kevin shot him straight in the shoulder, and was horrified when the angel simply _looked_ at the bullet-hole in his uniform that was there one minute, then gone. Could demons do that? Kevin wasn’t sure.

“I know you have no reason to trust me - especially not after the Garrison failed to protect you - but you _are_ the Keeper of the Word, and we do want you safe. I have come to escort you to the Winchesters, and to offer our protection to you again.”

“...didn’t work out so well last time.” The Prophet shuffled uncomfortably. He didn’t have the ingredients left from the spell, he’d used it all escaping. If this - Samandriel? - was a demon, he was kind of screwed. 

“Are you hurt at all? You look like you have been poorly treated.”

“I’m fine. Look. If you really are an angel… why don’t you prove it?”

Samandriel nodded, then closed his eyes. Kevin wondered what the Hell that was - oh. _Oh_. From somewhere behind, there was a sudden unfurling of wings. Kevin hadn’t read anything in the tablet that would explain if demons could fake having wings or not, but he was somehow sure that the blue light when Samandriel opened his eyes up - instead of the oil-slick black - was Heavenly, instead of Hellish. 

“Now do you believe me, Keeper?”

Mutely, Kevin nodded.

“Let me take you to the Hunter.”

***

This place was awful. It wasn’t like Hell, which was - from his memories - dark and bloody and loud. No, this place was like a constant headache from light that was too low to see by. Even the landscape was warped and nasty, with trees and scrub brush that scratched at your legs like it wanted to do you an injury. Dean was moving as fast as he could, not sure if he should call out the angel’s name or not. He rounded one particularly large tree and was caught short by the sudden press of metal to his throat. 

Well, shit. He looked from the knife, up past the wrist and arm and laughed at who he saw. “Well, I’ll be damned.” 

Castiel’s eyes widened. “Dean!” He immediately pulled Crowley’s blade away from the Hunter. “--How did you?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but let the angel pull his hand away from Dean’s throat. Pity. If he’d just been a bit faster he could have decapitated him and called it an ‘accident’. 

“Came looking for you,” Dean said, ignoring the question and stepping closer to the seraph, and further from the demon. “Might be nicer to the rescue party, you know.”

“Dean,” Crowley greeted him, “how delightful it is to see you here. What happened, were you aiming for Heaven and you tripped?”

“Crowley, be nice. He came to rescue us. How did you get in here?” A panicked look swept over the angel’s features. “The door-- you didn’t…” _Please Dean tell me you didn’t_.

“Relax, I’m not as dumb as your boyfriend,” Dean said, brushing himself down. “I came in with help, and I can take you out with me.”

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment, Squirrel, I’m still curious how you’re here. How do we know it’s really you and not something - say - shifting into your likeness?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Same to you, dickwad.”

“It’s really him. I can see…” Cas smiled as he looked at the Hunter before looking back to Crowley. “We should be going.” The angel put a hand over the glowing knot on his arm that held the Vampire in. 

“Yeah, well, I want it on record that this dick is only coming along under duress from me,” Dean said, turning on his heel. He didn’t really have a way to tell for sure except… when Crowley wasn’t expecting it, he reached into his jacket to find a small bottle of holy water, which he splashed back on the ‘King’.

Affronted, the demon sputtered, rubbing his face with the back of his sleeve. “You ignorant little prick, what the Hell was that in aid of?”

“Just wanted to make sure you were you,” Dean shrugged, pocketing the bottle. 

“Well I bloody well **am**. And now I **know** it’s you, because who else would greet an ally by throwing frigging aspic in their eyes? Did your alcoholic, absentee father never teach you basic manners?”

Cas cringed and looked down at the ground. _More_ conflict. He didn’t want conflict. That’s all Purgatory was. He fought the urge to shrink away from the two and stepped in between them, a hand on each of their chests. 

“Please. Stop. _Please_.” His eyes pleaded with both of them. _No more of this_.

Crowley took a step back, but he still looked ready to rip the Hunter’s head clean off his shoulders. “He started it… but I guess I’m a big enough man to stop it.”

Dean pushed Cas’ hand off his chest. “Gotta be safe, not sorry. Who knows what I could bring out by mistake.”

“Heaven forbid it might be the King of Hell.”

“ **STOP**!” The sheer loudness of Castiel’s voice startled him. “We are supposed to be working together. You two are bickering like children. You’re both better than that. Stop talking and let’s just go.”

Crowley actually felt a little guilty, but only a little. After all, he was fairly sure that he could blame Dean for this somehow? Right? Hmm. He tried to think of a way, but he was coming up short. If he was honest with himself… it was probably mostly jealousy speaking. Jealousy over the angel never quite being able to give the precious Righteous Man up. But he loved Cas, and if Cas loved Dean then he would just have to refrain from brutally yet satisfyingly murdering him. Because that was the nice thing to do. “Fine,” he grit out. “I’ll behave. But only for you, kitten.”

Oh for the love of - cute stupid couple names, now? Dean could feel his hackles rising, his cheeks burning and his hands… balling into fists. Past teeth so tight he might break enamel, he nodded. “Reaper brought me in. Balthazar and she are - well. Turns out you’re not the only angel with a taste for the dirty, Cas.”

A taste for the dirty? Really? Crowley wasn’t dirty… he wasn’t like all those other demons. He was different. Even the monsters here had said so. Cas placed a hand over Crowley’s and slightly shook his head, knowing Dean’s words would send the King into a frenzy if left unattended. 

“Dean. Please. Don’t.” Castiel didn’t want to fight, but the true pacifist had left the moment they arrived in Purgatory and were attacked. He didn’t want to fight the Hunter, but he would if he didn’t fucking stop. 

“Whatever. I came in here to get you out, alright? Not to fight.”

“Could have fooled me. Why don’t we call a truce until we’re back topside, and then you can call me all the filthy names under the sun you feel like, and I can ignore you, because I have my angel and next to that? Nothing else matters to me, Dean. Nothing.”

Dean wasn’t sure what to make of that outburst, but when he glanced over at the demon who was clearly fighting back his need for human blood… yeah. It sort of looked like he meant it. Well Cas was, he guessed, pretty as dudes went... and he was a frigging _angel_ , so it made sense that a demon might find him appealing… it was the reverse that made no sense to him.

“We’ve got rid of the Leviathans. Most of ‘em, anyway,” Dean said, opting to change the topic before it devolved into another fight. 

“...so why are you down here, to fetch Castiel? What’s gone wrong, Dean?”

“Nothing!”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Well it’s not like there’s _no_ problems, but believe it or not, Crowley, you don’t have the monopoly on caring for Cas. Me and Sam and Cas go back. Way back. He’s… he’s family to us, alright?”

“Yes, and we all saw what you do to your family, Dean.” Like John. Or Adam. Or Samuel. Or - even - **Sam**.

“Crowley, that’s enough. **ENOUGH**. The next one of you who speaks--” Castiel stopped. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do but… “Just. Stop. Can we _please_ get out of here...” He was rubbing at his arm again. Truth be told, it was really starting to burn.

Fine, Crowley thought, and - because he was still angry - made the age-old gesture of lips being zipped shut, and then he held out the invisible key for the angel to take.

Dean could not prevent the derisive snort. “You really want to put me in Time Out, when I came to save your ass, Cas?”

The angel’s squinting at Crowley and the imaginary key was interrupted by the Hunter’s rude tone. Without a second thought, the seraph grabbed the lapels of Dean’s coat and slammed him against the nearest tree. He was used to slamming the demon against the wall - there was always an ulterior motive behind it, mainly to get closer to Crowley. 

But this… this was different. This was pure _anger_. “I. Said. **Enough** , Dean. Get us out of here. If it’s true that you care so much about me, that I’m family, then you’ll stop this nonsense and listen to me. I love Crowley and he loves me. If you can’t handle that, then you never have to speak to me again once we leave this place. Do you understand?”

Whoa. Dean knew he’d been needling, but he hadn’t actually expected Cas to get all up in his face. That was more a God-Cas thing to do, not the Cas he’d seen most recently. You know. The one who wouldn’t even swat a fly because they were a reflection of God’s freaking awesome plan. It just went to reinforce his idea that Crowley plus Castiel equalled bad Castiel. He put his hands up and tried to pry Cas’ hands off, but the seraph was stronger and would not be budged unless he wanted to.

“I do care ‘bout you. It’s why I can’t just let you throw your life away without saying something. Someone has to, Cas. Someone who cares about what happens to you needs to remind you. This isn’t you… ever since you started working with him, you’ve been angry, or ‘blood of the firstborn’ crazy, or ‘I don’t sit down without checking for ants first’ crazy. You can’t… you can’t just expect me to sit back and watch you throw your life away. I saw what happened to Sam.”

“Ah,” Crowley interjected, with a hand up as if asking for permission, and waiting to see if Cas objected to him replying in his own defence. “If I may?”

When Cas nodded briefly, Crowley took that as permission enough and he stepped in close to put a hand in the small of the angel’s back. “Much as I appreciate you leaping to my defence, angel, I think it’s more me he has a problem with than you… so. Dean. You want to talk about this like adults, or do you want to continue to sling dirt at me and wait for handbags at dawn?”

Dean didn’t even give Crowley the honour of looking straight at him when he spoke, staring instead at Cas. Cas who stared right back at him and refused to move until Dean grunted the briefest of assent. The angel held him for a moment longer before - with a last shove - he let him go. 

But he was ready to grab hold of him again if he continued to be aggressive and uncooperative.

“See,” Crowley said, his voice trying for conciliatory, but unable to keep out the slightly sarcastic tinge. “We _can_ all be adults about Mommy and Daddy’s relationship.”

Dean actually growled at that. “You sick sonofa--”

Cas shook his head.

Dean pushed off from the tree, pretending he wanted to stop. He was beginning to wonder if this was all a terrible mistake. “You’re no good for him, Crowley. You turned him bad. And then you got him mostly killed, and filled the world with dicks, and then he had a mental breakdown. So, why don’t you tell me why you think I should let you near him? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, you should be on Jerry Springer, not a Hallmark card.”

The Hunter barely got the last words out before the angel’s hand was wrapped around his throat - _tight_. He didn’t speak, only snarled at Dean who was once again slammed up against the tree.

As amusing as it was to see Dean choke on those words… well. Crowley knew that later Cas would regret it if anything happened, so he put his hand on the angel’s, and prised it off with a little headshake. No, Cas. No. “It’s alright, kitten. He has a point… well. Some of his accusations, anyway. I’m a big boy, I can take them. Let him vent, or he’ll never come round, love.”

Dean hated the demon even more for his too-reasonable tone. Had he engineered this, too? Did he have Cas trained? Brainwashed? It was obviously not from concern for him, it was just… some sick power-trip on the demon’s part. He had his hands around Cas’ wrist, trying to pull him back.

Cas let go of Dean at Crowley’s request. His jaw was still clenched, his other hand a fist, but he took a step back from the Hunter. “ _Crowley_ didn’t ‘make me bad’...” air quotes for emphasis. “I made my own choices. He didn’t force me or trick me or anything, Dean. So whatever twisted thoughts you have in your mind about him, let them go now. Crowley is a better creature than me. So if you can manage **me** , you can certainly manage him. I will not stand down on this. You’re _wrong_ , Dean. You’re very, very wrong.”

Maybe Cas was right. The way he was acting he _was_ pretty damn nasty. Had he been like that all along, underneath, and they’d just never known? Dean wasn’t sure. He ran a hand over his throat. “I’m beginning to suspect that.”

“Oh for… will the pair of you grow up? I never thought I’d have to say that to an angel. A Hunter, maybe. Dean. Cas was **not** trying to become God. It… look. I was there all along. It just… things got out of control. He didn’t want to work with me, he didn’t want the power, and he was only ever doing it because he thought it was right. There’s not this perfectly clear-cut right and wrong in the world like you seem to think there is. Angels slaughtered people for their father’s holy mission. People do bad things all the time. And demons? Demons aren’t _always_ selfish, or vindictive, or malicious. I used to be like you, remember? And you almost became like me. So get off your high frigging horse and realise you’re being racist, bigoted and selfish. You should be happy Cas is happy. And maybe if you’d be a little more accepting of him, a little more understanding, he wouldn’t be forced to conceal things from you. Maybe you could - oh, I don’t know - _talk_ to one another. Like adults. Sure, he’s going to fuck up. So am I. But we’re not going to end our relationship just because you’re trying for Toddler Of The Year.”

Dean blinked under the barrage of words. Some of them… some of them hit home a little more than he cared to admit. “You’re still an ass, Crowley.”

“Yes, well, I never claimed to be otherwise. And you’re still a self-righteous little prick, jealous someone else gets to spend time with your guardian angel. But you’re Castiel’s friend, so I have to live with it.”

The angel shifted uncomfortably. “I _was_ only trying to do what was right, Dean.”

Dean’s chest heaved with a heavy sigh. “Don’t mean I have to like you being with him. Fine. I’ll keep it to myself. But if it all ends in tears again… I ain’t gonna keep myself from saying ‘I told you so’...” then his eyes flickered to Crowley. “Or ganking you. I mean it. You do _one_ thing to hurt him…”

“With Cas as my witness, I swear,” Crowley said, a hand on his heart, “that I will never knowingly do anything to harm him. And frankly, if I do, he’s perfectly within his rights to bend me over his knee himself.”

Dean choked. “Dude. I do _not_ want to know.”


	63. Chapter 63

“Well, Kevin, you’ve been busy.”

The younger man snorted. “I’ve been held hostage by a crazy demon bitch.”

“Yeah. And then escaped, and been rescued by an angel…”

“He didn’t so much rescue me as give me a ride, Sam. I was already home free when I got out.”

“Still. Most kids your age just play, uh, Call of Duty.”

“I was more of a cello-and-calculus guy.” Kevin drummed his fingers over the side of his coffee cup, jumping every time someone new came into the diner. “You know. Before the whole ‘Chosen One’ thing.”

“I was at Stanford, you know. Law student.” Sam shrugged. “Guess the world had other plans.”

“Wow… really?”

The youngest Winchester nodded. “Just ‘cause I can lick a Werewolf, and I can exorcise a demon, doesn’t mean I can’t hit a text book, or pass the bar.”

“...I didn’t… sorry. I didn’t mean to imply I thought you weren’t smart. It’s just… you and Dean? You’re just both so… tough. And you’re so… other-worldly, that I can barely imagine you as normal people.”

Sam snorted in response to that. “Yeah, well, I guess that makes sense. It’s not a common calling, I’ll admit. And Hunters… don’t tend to manage to live normal lives, or even live all that long. It’s a rough profession, and not one I’d recommend to anyone.”

“Why’d you do it? I mean, if you were at Stanford? You had to be good - smart - what made you change to doing this?”

“It was less of a choice and more of a - uh - necessity. Family stuff. And then… then it was too late to go back, really. Plus… kinda feels good sometimes to help people, you know?”

Kevin supposed so. He’d not seen much of what the Winchesters did, but they’d certainly helped him. Or… tried to, anyway. 

“So… you said Meg had you working on another tablet?”

“Yeah. Demon tablet. Said she’d rustled it up from her old boss. Same kind of writing as the Leviathan tablet.”

“And you’ve got it?”

He nodded, and patted at the rucksack beside him. “Yep. I’ve translated quite a lot of it. Had to, so I knew how to escape. Lots of helpful things on it, including the spell I used to blow my way out of there.”

“I’d love to get the details of that spell. Anything we can do to kill demons is always a big help.”

“There’s…” he shuffled, eyes moving around the room, seeing if anyone was close enough to listen, or trying. “...something else.”

Sam leaned closer, head to one side. “What?”

“The tablet… it mentions something called trials. A way to seal off Hell. For good.”

The Hunter whistled low through his teeth. “Wow. That’s… sure something.”

“I know, right? I didn’t translate it all in case they tortured it out of me, but when I found that? I knew I had to get the Hell out of there as fast as possible and… well. Try to do it.”

“This… this is big, Kevin. Really big.”

“I know, right?”

Sam’s fingers ran over the table, deep in thought. “We gotta keep this to ourselves. You, me and Dean. No one else - no one.”

“Who else would I tell?” he laughed. “My girlfriend and my mom both think I ran off, that I cracked under the pressure of applying to college. You, Dean and - I guess - those two angels are the only ones who would believe any of this crap.”

“Exactly. Those angels. We don’t know Samandriel at all, so we can’t trust him. And Cas? Well, Dean is off trying to save him, but he’s… he’s got close connections to demons, and we can’t run the risk of them trying to stop you translating the spell.”

Pale, Kevin ran a hand over his mouth. “The crazy angel is - what, friends? - with demons?”

“Sort of. He’s very close to, uh, Crowley. You’ve not met him, but he’s the King of Hell and a pain in the ass. Crowley came with us when we attacked Dick’s base, but when Cas killed Dick… we think they went into Purgatory along with Dick.”

Not that Kevin knew the angel well enough to miss him, and what he _had_ seen had been freakishly awkward. “O--kay…”

“Long story. Basically they worked together and - uh - it went on from there. And now they’re stuck in limbo, and Dean’s borrowed a Reaper to try smuggle them out. Not sure how I feel about it, but if Cas is gonna be hanging around Crowley… we need to keep this under wraps.”

“...how does that even…?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I suppose if you’re an angel, it’s already pretty hard to get your head around people dying. Maybe a demon is just better than nothing.” He couldn’t quite look Kevin in the eye when he said that. After all… Ruby. Yeah. “Plus… some of them can be… charismatic. You know.”

“...I guess.” 

Sam cleared his throat. “Well, Dean is due back in a couple of hours. We should head back to the motel and wait for him, then we can come up with our next plan of attack. We were actually hoping to use Cas and Crowley to bust you free, so you’ve saved us a job.”

Kevin laughed at that, and then finished his coffee off. “Sorry. Didn’t realise I was being a pain.”

“You kidding? You escaped from _Meg_. That’s pretty damn awesome, Kevin. And if you can manage it, any information you’ve got that can help us track her down… the whole kidnapping you stunt was just one thing too far.”

“I’m with you nine hundred percent on that. But if you don’t mind… I could really do with some sleep where I’m not frightened for my own safety.”

“C’mon. It’s only a couple of blocks away, and you can snore your heart out.”

“Deal.”

***

“So,” Crowley said, when they’d been walking without any further raised voices for a while. “What’s been happening in our absence? Anything interesting? How’s Hell? What’s happening on ‘Girls’?”

Dean decided to ignore the question about what must be some TV show he totally didn’t watch, and wasn’t entirely sure if Crowley really did, or was trying to imply _Dean_ did. “Well, for one, that bitch ran off with Kevin.”

Cas squinted, head tilting slightly. “You mean Meg?”

The Hunter nodded. “Yep. Right in the middle of trying to take down Dick, she went and kidnapped him and left Sam all on his lonesome.”

“When we get out of here, I am going to personally insert my hand into her meatsuit, rip the smoke out of her, and stuff her in a lightbulb for all eternity. Which I will then bat back and forth and switch on and off when I am feeling particularly malicious,” Crowley insisted.

The angel pressed his lips together in a thin line, looking at Crowley with his brow furrowed before turning back to Dean. “And you and Sam have been unable to find her… or the Prophet?”

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling guilty. Guilty because it was partially why he was here, after all. “Oh, and apparently Hell is upset about her, too. Some red-headed dude and a chick have decided to set up some kind of interim government. You got ‘em truly brainwashed, I guess.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “...Cecily and Scotius?”

A shrug. “Sounds familiar.”

“You spoke with them?”

“Dude. She came begging us to bring you back. Guess that other demon’s even worse as a boss than you.”

Of course Cecily came begging for Dean to retrieve Crowley. Castiel shook his head. _Of course she did_. He still wasn’t over the pangs of jealousy he got thinking about how he’d witnessed the two of them flirting and being so damned **close** to one another.

“--I…” Cas wasn’t entirely sure what he was trying to say, but he decided against speaking altogether. Just in case - in his unstable state - he said something foolish. This was one of those moments he knew he should keep his mouth shut. He looked at Crowley to say something - anything as long as it moved the conversation away from Castiel’s jealousy.

The demon sort of wanted to gloat and rub in that he had loyal followers to Dean - show him he _was_ a good King - but he could sense that Cas was less than impressed. Damn. He glanced two fingers over the back of his hand, just a little show of solidarity. 

“What does Meg want with the Prophet?” Crowley asked instead.

“Damned if I know. Maybe just to stick two fingers up to Heaven. Maybe she’s got some plan to try bust Lucifer back out. Damned bitch is crazy,” Dean decided. 

Castiel looked down at the ground. He really wished Dean would stop referring to Meg as a ‘bitch’ but at least he wasn’t talking down about Crowley anymore. He was thankful that Crowley had changed the conversation, even if he was _now_ additionally concerned that Meg would, indeed, want to bring Lucifer out of the Cage. It was no secret that she was one of the Morningstar’s loyal supporters, and with her hands on a Prophet… well… this could be bad. He still didn’t trust himself to speak, so he heaved a sigh instead.

“Well, you came to the right people,” Crowley insisted. “No one hates her more than me. It would be my honour to restore the Prophet to you, if it meant destroying that little illegitimate female dog of negotiable affections.”

Dean shrugged. “As long as Kevin’s safe, you can do what you want with her.”

“I have no interest in the decoder ring. Nothing to make him decode, remember?” the King pointed out.

“...not so reassuring, but yeah.”

“How much farther until we are where we need to be to get out of here?” The angel was growing impatient… impatient and tired of the bickering. Things had been much simpler in here when it was just him and Crowley. Even with Benny. But Dean, his charge, his supposed friend… all he wanted to do was spew venom about Crowley and Castiel. And the seraph just wanted to be out of this wasteland and back to something less horrible, curling up against his demon in peace.

“Yeah, it’s not much further,” Dean said, and it couldn’t come quickly enough. “The Reaper said--”

But Dean didn’t manage to finish, because from somewhere in the canopy of trees above a Leviathan dropped down, landing on his back and wrapping an arm across his throat to choke him. Four more dropped down - two by Castiel, two by Crowley. 

The demon had his angel blade out at once, staggering under the monster on his back as he fought to decapitate the one going for his jugular. “Not… **now** you disgusting, withered dick!”

Castiel shoved his angel blade into the neck of the closest monster, sloppily managing to remove its head before ducking out of the way of the other one lunging for him. The head of the second monster bounced across the ground, the angel being much more graceful that time. Cas reached for the hair on top of the monster on Crowley’s back and yanked with all his strength, pulling it down to the ground and shoving his knee into its gut as he chopped off yet another head.

He glanced up to assess the situation, snarling.

Crowley was going to say thanks, but then he saw - behind Cas - that one of the Leviathans had decided to go for the weaker of them, and now Dean was down on one knee with the creature wrapped around his shoulders, the second preparing to eat him. “Bugger,” he hissed, pushing past Cas to run his blade straight in the base of the monster’s skull. A twist and a pull and he severed head from body, leaving Dean with the leverage to push up. A hand on the last one’s shirt - lifting him from his feet, and he cocked his head at Cas as an invitation to finish it off.

Dean wasn’t about to let them have all the fun, though, and with a back-handed swipe he sent the Leviathan to whatever was the after-after life.

“You’re welcome, Squirrel,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes and cleaning his blade.

“Yeah. Well.”

“This is why we need to go.” The angel glanced around - and up - making sure there were no more surprises.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Monster Land is no fun.” He was brushing himself down, trying to clear the impossibly foul dirt from his jacket and pants. “April said the door should be right ahead.”

“Lead on, McDuff.”

***

Meg sat in her car, watching Mrs. Tran like a hawk. She picked up her phone with a smile. Surely this would work, right? She dialed Sam’s number and waited for him to answer.

Sam narrowed his eyes at the caller display. “I… could you give me a minute?” 

“...sure,” Kevin said.

The Hunter pushed up from the cot, and went outside. He closed the door behind him and leaned back on it. “What do you want, Meg?” he said into the cellphone.

“Nice to hear your voice, too, sweetie. I’m just sitting right out front of your newest little buddy’s house. I’ve got my eyes on mommy dearest as we speak. Sure would be a shame if she were to go missing, don’t you think?”

Damnit. Why hadn’t Sam thought to put her under protection? “Leave her out of this, Meg. C’mon. Why are you doing this? Crowley’s gone. What the Hell do you want from Kevin?”

“Exactly. Crowley’s gone. Hell needs a ruler, right? Don’t you think a Prophet could come in handy? I kinda do. So hand him over, and I’ll leave Mama Tran alone.”

“You know I can’t do that. Kevin’s important. I can’t let you--” There was a thunk behind, somewhere distant. “Hang on.” He hung up on her, then tried to open the door to the motel room, but it was jammed from the inside. Sam went to the window and peered in, just in time to see a flash of rucksack and feet headed out the back window.

“Damnit… KEVIN!”

***

April had been waiting far too long. She knew it wasn’t easy navigating through Purgatory, but they should’ve already come out. She stepped through the door cautiously, looking around. She spotted three bodies coming straight for her. Her heart skipped a beat until she realised it was _them_. 

And something was behind them. _Awesome_.

“Dean!” The Reaper called for the Hunter as loud as she could. No use in hiding her presence if the three stooges were just going to run right up to her anyway. “Over here!”

“Open the goddamn door, April, open the door!” Dean sprinted ahead of the other two, going flat out towards her. 

“What the man said, sweetheart, unless you want a face full of slime!” Crowley added, an arm around a neck and a spine snapped even as he ran.

April went through first, followed by Dean. Cas glanced back, the monsters were gaining on them. He grabbed Crowley’s hand - if they both got stuck again, so be it, but he wasn’t going _anywhere_ without his demon. Everything went black for a moment and then the world - the **real** world - seemed to reappear around them. No more perpetually grey sky, no more dead, yet somehow living trees. Everything was brighter, even in the black of night. He threw his arms around Crowley’s neck and squeezed. 

“I love you.” The angel didn’t know what else to say. They’d just been to worse-than-Hell and back _together_.

Crowley didn’t give a shit that Dean and the Reaper were there. He was out. No - **they** were out. Two hands on the angel’s face, holding him where he wanted him… backing him up against the now-solid wall and kissing him like there was no tomorrow. He dragged his tongue over the angel’s lips before dipping inside, growling possessively into his mouth. Nothing like almost-dying to get you fired up, right?

“Oh for the love of--” Dean threw his hands up in dismay. “Get a room, guys, you’re cramping my style.”

April chuckled. "Your style... right..." The Reaper pulled out her cell phone and snapped a picture of the three boys and sent it to Cecily.

Meanwhile, Cas had both hands on Crowley's head, too. He stopped kissing his King only because his vessel demanded oxygen. He pressed their foreheads together and smiled. "We made it. We made it out."

Crowley heard the click of the camera aperture, and with another little peck to his angel’s lips, he turned his head to peer at her. “Did you get my good side? I know I’m a handsome devil, but normally people only take racy pics of me if I’ve consented first.” He was rubbing his thumbs over the angel’s scruffy cheeks. 

“Yeah, we made it.” Dean was unimpressed. “So if you love-birds could put it on ice just for a little while?”

The King snorted. “No. We’ve been on the run for months, Green Eyes. I want to take a shower, a shave, and then…” A sly little look. “Obliged for the lift.”

Without Crowley's mouth on his, Cas felt more than a little embarrassed at their display. His cheeks flushed red and he looked down at the ground.

The ground. Light brown sandy looking dirt. Not dirt stained greyish-black with millennia of blood and evil. He immediately looked up to the stars. Oh, how he had missed those. They sparkled brightly, like Crowley's eyes did - even in the depths of Purgatory - whenever he looked into his angel's eyes.

Castiel hadn't heard what Crowley had said, but the demon was looking at him with _those_ eyes. Cas smiled and nodded. He knew what that look meant. And yes, he wanted to celebrate their escape... very much. But he felt... he looked back at the now closed door.

Blood, guts, dirt, death, and the worst kind of evil one couldn't even imagine all stood behind it.

"I'm dirty," the angel complained. He meant it physically and mentally. He started to feel like things were spinning out of control and fully expected the Devil to show up and torment him like he had in the mental hospital. He held Crowley's face a little bit tighter, worried if he let go, everything would disappear and he'd been alone in Purgatory.

Had he been alone in Purgatory the whole time? A wave of panic came over him as he searched Crowley's eyes for answers.

“Cas…” He’d caught the tone in his voice, the worried look in his eyes. One hand slid around to the back of his neck, trying to ground him. The other went to find the angel’s, to lace their fingers together, to press palm to palm. “Kitten… it’s okay. It’s okay. I can clean you up, alright? Not here. Home. I’ll get you home, and I’ll take care of you. Alright?”

Dean had the decency to look abashed. “Yeah. You… you should probably get clean. We can talk about the plan later.” He squinted at them, wondering why Cas had seemed almost fine inside, but now was back to frayed. Had Purgatory done even more damage to him?

Crowley nodded at them both. “I have to take care of him. So thank you for breaking us out, but… we’ll be in touch. Castiel comes first, and that’s the end of it.” With a whoosh, he spirited them back down to Hell.


	64. Chapter 64

Castiel looked around at the familiar setting, still apprehensive that it wasn't real. He clutched at Crowley's hand.

He was scared. Very scared.

He was scared that at any moment Crowley would start berating him for his poor choices, or that the room would melt away and he'd be alone, surrounded by monsters.

"Crowley..." His voice cracked. Cracked like his mind. He didn't smell the rank aroma that he had when he was in Purgatory. This was familiar. It was nice, but... how could even tell what was real anymore. Was it all a ploy? Get him comfortable, take away the constant need to defend himself and Crowley - the flight or fight instinct - and you're left with... what? Just a broken angel.

"I don't... I don't know if..." He was hesitant to speak what was on his mind, just in case Crowley disappeared or morphed into Lucifer or melted into a puddle of blood. Cas didn't know if he could handle any of that and he was on the verge of tears.

The room didn’t look right, and Crowley was irritated. Stepping into his shoes was one thing, stepping into his bed another. A snap of his fingers and he righted their rooms, put the place back as it had been. He was still holding the angel’s hand, and he guided him gently to the couch. Crowley sat close to him, his left hand stroking up and down his spine.

“It’s okay,” he said, as calmly as he could. “You’re in shock, kitten. It’s a lot to process. It’s a lot of big changes. But it’s okay, now. You don’t need to run for your life any more. You can relax. You’re safe. You’re free. I have you. Okay? I have you.” A kiss to his temple, and then he pulled him against his chest, hugging him fiercely.

Cas let himself be pulled against Crowley. At least this one was being nice. Was this the _real_ Crowley, or was his mind about to fuck him over again? Hesitantly, and with great caution, he held his breath and let his arms wrap around the demon’s waist. When nothing bad happened, he exhaled and let his body relax a bit against Crowley.

“--Crowley… is this-- I don’t know how to tell what’s real and what’s going to turn into some horrifying nightmare.”

“Oh, darling, it’s real. I promise it’s real. I don’t know how to show you, other than to stay with you every day…” He sat back, just enough to peer at him in earnest. “I’m no nightmare. This is real. You’ve done your penance, you’ve served your time in Hell… now it’s time you come home to me.” A little press of nose to nose.

“You’re not in the Matrix, you’re not in a dream… we’re free, Cas. It’s true. We’re free.”

Castiel squinted at the demon. What was this _matrix_? Something else for him to be worried about, no doubt.

He snuggled a bit closer to Crowley, his head resting on the demon’s shoulder, feeling more comfortable to really cuddle him with his arms around the King’s - _his_ King’s - waist. “Thank you. I know it must be difficult to talk to me like this… it’s difficult to **be** like this. I wish I knew how to fix it.” 

“I wish I knew, too.” But how the Hell did you fix an angel who became God and broke? He held his seraph tightly, and dropped his head over Cas’. “Whatever it takes, we’ll do it. Whatever you need, we’ll do it. You are my number one priority. Whatever I can do to help you…” 

Crowley was sort of at a loss. He did not have much experience in fixing people as it was… but certainly not when it was someone he cared for. Some who - seeing them hurt - made the bottom fall out of his world. “Should we start by cleaning you up? Get this filthy get-up off you. Wash the grime away? Because - no offence, love of my life - but you _do_ stink.”

The angel sat up with a snort. “You certainly do not smell of flowers, either demon.” He stood carefully, half expecting the room to change into the mental hospital room with the white walls and white bedding. When it remained as it was, he offered a hand to Crowley. “Getting cleaned up does sound very nice.”

The demon chuckled. “Touché.” He took Cas’ hand, rising gracefully, and snapping them into a large, immaculately clean bathroom. There was a huge, walk-in shower, fluffy white towels and smellies and everything you might want. “...you ready?” he asked, pushing his hands under the filthy once-tan coat. “You can tell me to go, and I’ll go, you know.” Please don’t.

Cas shrugged the coat off with a nod. He leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on his demon’s lips and then took a small step back to pull the now-grey top over his head and toss it as far away as he could. A moment of hesitation - which he then realized was silly, this was Crowley. The **real** Crowley (as far as he could tell, anyway). He stepped out of the strange white shoes he’d grown accustomed to and pushed the pants down, kicking them aside. 

“This hardly seems fair.” He tugged at Crowley’s suit. His poor suit. It was all but torn to shreds. From claws… and monsters. And…

He pulled the demon towards him again, pressing their lips together once more. 

_**This** is real. This is real._

He kissed back, without pushing the matter, without wanting to do too much in case it fractured the splintered angel even more. It _hurt_ so much to see, to be here around a mind so broken, a psyche so wounded. There must be some deal he could sign, some… _thing_ he could offer. Crowley pulled his own tie off and dropped it to the floor, shaking off the jacket, pulling off his shirt. It was all heavy and dark with blood and sweat and muck. Down it went, and then his pants, and shoes were kicked off. He was filthy underneath, too. It was so very unlike him to be anything less than pristine, and baring his mud-smeared skin was somehow more embarrassing than just being naked ever could. 

Then things were gone, and Crowley offered a weak smile. “I should have turned the shower on ready.” Fingers snapped, and he made sure it was just the right temperature. “May I wash you, angel?”

Castiel let his fingers drift down Crowley’s chest, pausing a moment before looking back up to meet his eyes. “Of course. Yes, please.” _Make it all go away_.

A hand on each shoulder, he walked Castiel slowly backwards into the warm spray. It was a sudden shock to the system, after so long with nothing but brackish, cold, stagnant water. It hit their heads and shoulders and suddenly plastered hair down in a dark mess, streaking through the patina on skin, the droplets making zebra stripes on their torsos. Crowley actually laughed. “Look, there you are…” Fingertips up and teasing through his angel’s matted hair, the action provoking a sudden rush of dirt. Whoops. He put a hand across his brow to shield his eyes, the other scrubbing firmly at his scalp to start revealing angel. 

Cas scrunched his face up. What a strange sensation. It was like being in the rain, but… more forceful rain. It certainly felt nice, even if he didn’t include the demon’s fingers scrubbing at his very, very dirty hair. The angel tilted his head back a bit, not even considering the fact that it meant the forceful rain would pummel his face.

With a laugh and a shake of his head, he moved his head quickly back to look at Crowley again with a smile. “This is nice.”

“It would be nicer if you didn’t try to drink it,” Crowley scoffed. “If you’re that thirsty I can get you something better to drink.” But the smile was good. The smile was old-Cas. Not crazy-Cas. He grabbed some of the shampoo (honey-scented) and squirted some into the angel’s mop of black hair. Scrub, scrub, scrub went his fingers, until the water ran clear with bubbles down his shoulders. Better. Next his hands worked over those shoulders, and Crowley tutted at him, pushing until he turned, so he could work on the knotted muscles of his vessel. He was still filthy himself, but he was less upset than Cas, so he could wait for a moment now. “You know, you did pick an exceptionally nice vessel, Cas. It suits you. I could scrub you clean all day…”

Cas put his hands on the wall to brace himself as the demon dug his fingers into muscles the angel didn’t even know were bothering him until they felt so much _better_. He rested his head on his forearm and was reminded of the promise they had made to the Vampire who was currently still residing in his other arm. He brought that arm up as well, placing a hand over the knot. _Soon, Benny_.

“It is just a vessel, Crowley. I did not pick it, not really. It is perfectly suited for me, though. Just like yours is for you. Perfectly suited.” A chuckle. “You _do_ like suits.”

“I do like suits, but sometimes I like… not-suits,” Crowley said, his hands moving down now over the angel’s broad back, then up and over his arms, meticulously rubbing the remaining suds over him. “I’ll have to get a new one. And you, too. I’m guessing you’ll want the same again?” 

He pressed close to the angel’s back, arms reaching around to stroke over the front of his chest. It wasn’t even as if he was trying to be lewd, he just wanted Cas to feel clean and at home in himself again. He could only try to imagine what had been going on in that head of his, with all the crap. Angels weren’t meant for this kind of trauma, of course. “Maybe I’ll make sure you wear the tie right this time around.”

“If I wore it right, it wouldn’t be me, would it?” Cas sighed. He was feeling better than when they had first got back, but still off… still scared that everything would disappear. That this was some kind of cruel dream. It _felt_ real. And it wasn’t as though he had any memories like this to be recreated in his mind.

The feeling of the demon pressed against his back was so warm, so comforting. He smiled again. Truly smiled. “I love you, Crowley. I’m sorry.” _For everything_.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Cas,” he insisted, kissing just behind his ear as he rubbed over the angel’s belly with his hands. “Nothing at all. And whatever is in the past is just that: past. Just… stay with me, now, and everything will be fine.” 

The final bit was toughest, and he dropped to one knee to scrub his hands over Cas’ thighs, calves, down to his feet and then back up to his ass. He wanted to make sure every last inch was clean, every last spot was covered with his touches. Maybe he took longer than he needed to, but he wanted to do it right. The King pushed up, onto his feet, and tried to spin him slowly around for more kisses.

The angel felt more and more relaxed as Crowley washed over every inch of him. By the time the demon spun him around, he was feeling _much_ better. He happily returned the kisses, a hand on Crowley’s face. “Your turn, my King.” 

Cas grabbed the shampoo, lathering it into the demon’s short hair. Of course, he used too much and stifled a giggle at all the extra suds. “Have you always used honey scented shampoo or is this new?” 

“You got me,” Crowley smirked, wiping an excess of bubbles from his face with the back of his hand. “I was thinking of you.” He draped his arms over Cas’ shoulders, enjoying the fingers. He’d missed their comfortable closeness most of all. “That comes as no surprise. I spend most days thinking of you. Over, and over, and over. You’ve broken me, Cas. Broken me.” He barely sounded upset though.

Broken him? Cas… broke him? His King? His love? His face fell and he was _worried_. “--I… Crowley, I didn’t mean to-- I… I don’t want to-- I’m sorry. I broke you.”

“Oh, you silly little bird… it’s a good break, Cas. I mean… I mean I can’t stop thinking about you. Never could. You snapped my heart wide open and moved into the hole. It’s why I couldn’t cope with you gone - I knew I was missing the other part of me. The good part. The part worth keeping.” He ran the knuckles of one hand down over his cheek, his eyes soft with hurt, but the good kind of hurt. “I’d take the pain of loving you over anything else, my angel. When you were gone, I was barely alive. Now that you’re back…” he swallowed, his throat tight. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Right here. In you.”

Castiel almost choked on his words. “--I… I knew I was missing something, too. I told you I dreamt about you - well… exactly ‘dreamt’ but I remembered you to a point. You felt right, even though I didn’t know who you were. Then at the hospital, just before I-- when I remembered you. Crowley you’re all **I** wanted. It was a strange journey to go on to understand that. But it’s like we were made for one another. Even the monsters in Pur-- even the monsters saw it. They said we looked the same there. It’s a funny thought… God creating a demon for an angel. And, of course, an angel for a demon.”

“Well… He does move in mysterious ways,” Crowley said, fighting a laugh that was equal parts hysteria and happiness. This. This was right. No one would convince him otherwise. “I’m not letting you leave me again, Castiel. I’ll chase you anywhere you go. I’ll be there every day, to remind you that I love you. That this was meant to be. That _we_ were meant to be.” Eyes closing under the feel of his angel’s hands. “And whatever it takes to make you feel yourself again… you’ve got it. Anything. **Anything.** ”

There was nothing else Castiel could say to Crowley. Not right now anyways - aside from the million _I love yous_ on his tongue. So he spun Crowley around so the demon’s back was against the wall and kissed him hard, passionately, as though their lives depended on it. 

The angel smiled into the rough kisses. 

_Mine_.

**Forever**.


	65. Chapter 65

“Oh, there you are,” Meg drawled, pushing her chair back from the dining room table. His mom’s dining room table. His mom’s house. Where she was trespassing. “Linda was just giving me some information to help track you down.”

Kevin frowned at them. On first name terms, were they? “Hey, Mom.”

After a moment of gasping into her hand, Linda leapt up. She grabbed Kevin in a big bear-hug, then slapped him across the cheek. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!” Then it was back to hugging the breath out of him.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I can explain everything. Just… when it’s just us two?”

“I’ll give you guys a moment.”

“Thank you, officer Masters.”

Meg left, and Kevin reached in, finding a bottle of holy water and splashing her with it. What looked like his mother hissed and recoiled, steam rising from her body. “You little bitch!”

Kevin jumped backwards, but found himself retreating straight into a burly set of arms that wrapped around his torso, crushingly tight. 

“You really think we’d let your mother run around, when we needed you?” The demon possessing his mother let her eyes turn black.

“Get the Hell out of her! Get out!”

“Oh, little pocket protector… you don’t have a strong bargaining position here. Didn’t I tell you I’d treat you well if you behaved? But no… you had to go blow up my friends, run off… and here - now I have you, your mother, and the tablet. You don’t have any leverage here.” Meg was back to leaning against the door. “Such a pity. I was hoping this could be a beautiful friendship.”

“Yeah, well… you don’t have the tablet, because I hid it!” 

Meg snapped her fingers. “You mean this?”

“What! How did you--?!”

“Honey, I’m smarter than you. And now you’re going to translate everything for me. Aren’t you?”

There was a sound behind him, and Kevin turned. He was horrified to see the demon in his mother holding a knife to her throat. Even if he could get to them, his bombs were useless. With the demon possessing Mom, there was no way he could use them. He was beginning to see just how out-played he was.

***

“Where the Hell are you, Sam?”

“Trying to catch up to Kevin.”

“Kevin? You found him?”

“Kid went and escaped Meg, but then she put a hit on his Mom, and…”

“Dude. Do _not_ tell me he gave you the slip.”

“And then hid the keys to the Impala. Didn’t steal her, though.”

“That sonofa… where are you now?” 

“Neighbour… Dean. Dean I think I’m too late.”

Sam heard a muffled sound, and then when he turned around April and Dean were there. 

“Where is the little punk?”

The younger brother waved at the house. “Inside. Demons all over.”

“Great. Well. We gotta make a run on them. Who knows when we’ll next get a chance like this?”

“What about Cas? And… Crowley?”

“Yeah, got ‘em out fine. Only thing is, Cas is still pretty froot loops about everything. When we got out, he sort of…” 

“Right.”

“And I have to say,” April said, looking from one to the other, “that I’m not interested in divine and infernal politics. I brought you here as a favour, Dean, but that’s as far as it goes. If you want to take them down, you’re going without me.”

And then the Reaper vanished.

“Fuck.”

***

Castiel felt _much_ better after being cleaned up, wearing new clothes instead of those ridiculous hospital scrubs. He was in a rather good mood when both he and Crowley arrived in Clayton, Louisiana to make good on the promise to the Vampire. His remains were exactly where he said they would be and Castiel cut into the knot in his arm where Benny’s essence was, spoke the incantation, and watched as what counted as the Vampire’s soul poured into the bones.

Cas’ arm shook as the last of Benny’s essence flowed into the grave before vanishing completely. The angel and the demon turned to see the Vampire smiling.

“That didn’t take long at all, did it?” Crowley smiled, walking a bit closer to Benny.

“No thanks to you. The Hell took you so long?” 

Crowley looked back at Cas, making sure his angel was okay. The seraph nodded and Crowley turned his attention back to Benny. “You're welcome, by the way.”

Benny smiled, rolling his neck from side to side, bones cracking loud enough for them to hear.

“Does everything feel okay?” Castiel asked, rubbing at his arm. He had healed the wound, but the dull sting was still there.

“Good enough,” the Vampire said, opening his mouth wide, letting his fangs descend. “So... what now?”

“I suppose we go our separate ways. You keep your word and your head down, yes?”

The Vampire nodded. “Then this is goodbye.”

“Things are a lot different these days, sweetheart,” the demon said. “Behave yourself.” 

Benny closed the gap between the three of them, reaching out to shake Castiel’s hand first, then Crowley’s. “We made it. I can't believe it.” A smile spread across the Vampire’s face and he pulled both Cas and Crowley into a hug.

“Neither can I,” Crowley agreed. 

Castiel couldn’t either, but he was afraid to speak once more. Afraid that his words would shatter his surroundings like glass and everything would come crashing down. The angel closed his eyes, patting Benny on the back and reaching to find Crowley’s hand to squeeze. Perhaps if he never let go of his King, he’d act like an anchor and keep him in this world. The one where he was broken but not shattered anymore. Yes. He’d like to stay here with his King and the Vampire that helped them reach this world. 

The Vampire left and Castiel immediately wrapped his arms around Crowley once more. “Take me home, my King.”

“As you wish, love.” He placed a light kiss on the angel’s forehead. “As you wish.”

***

“Just let her go!”

“This all ends when you give me what I want, Kevin. You should realise by now.”

“Look… you’ve got me, and the tablet… you don’t need my mom, too.”

“I think I do. I think I underestimated you last time. I think your mommy is going to stay here until you’ve translated every. Last. Word. And if it takes you too long - if I think you’re stalling - well. You know how demons become demons, Kevin? You read that bit yet?”

He had, in fact. It was horrible. Torture upon torture. Which meant that any demon possessing her had the capacity to do it to her, but worse… if they did it to her enough, it could well twist her own soul into something rotten and dark.

“Sam and Dean will kill you for this, you know.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Sure, they’ll be a little pissed… but it’s all fine. We go back, me and the boys. And when I have Hell under control… well.”

Kevin wondered if he should point out that he knew all about Crowley, but no. He didn’t want her angry. Not when his mother was on the line. 

“So come on. I want to know what’s really on this tablet.” She tapped a finger to the text. “What’s this bit say?”

“It’s… uh. There’s sort of… chapter titles. So you can navigate it better.”

“So what does it say?”

“Well _that_ one is ‘The demonic influence on the… collective tapestry of the soul’. Sort of flowery, I guess.”

“Keep going.”

“Next is… ‘Demonic transport to the regions of Hell’, then - well there’s the defensive weapons bit. S--”

“What?”

Kevin didn’t want to do it, but he knew his mom was in the next room. “Sealing the gates of Hell.”

“I see. I’m going to need that bit. In detail. So I can prevent it.”

Kevin nodded, his eyes skimming down the etched stone. Weird. There was a bit that he hadn’t paid attention to, the words looked… different. The stone sort of… felt hot and cold and like it was hard to keep a handle on as he peered at it. “Hold on. This is different. It's – it's not text. It's like a personal note?”

“You mean to say God’s leaving you love-letters from the past, Prophet?”

“No… not God. It’s from... the angel... Metatron.”

“The Secretary. Makes sense. So… read it to me.”

“It's like a – a farewell note. Uhm… ‘Upon completion of this task, I take my leave of my master in this world… so ends the transcription of the sacred word for the defense of mankind. Into the hands of God's children thus passes the compendium of tablets’...”

“Compendium? Hmm. But there’s only two tablets. Leviathan and Demon.”

“Maybe not.” 

“No. Maybe not.” Meg bit her lip in thought. “You did good, kid. Keep it up. We really don’t need to be enemies, you know. And I am _much better_ as a friend than an enemy.”

“What’s stopping you killing me when I translate all of this, though?”

“Not much, if you’re a pain in my ass, I’ll be honest. But if you’re my friend? I treat my friends good, Kevin. Really good. I’m willing to give you one last chance, but if you bite my hand again?”

Said hand slipped across her throat. “Orphans are always sad, no matter how old they are. Don’t you think?”

Yeah. Kevin was beginning to think he should have stayed with Sam, instead of thinking he could out-smart Hell. At least when she was a hostage, to get him to come in, his mom had been safer. Now? Not so much.


	66. Chapter 66

“Stop! Please, God, please stop!”

Meg was sitting backwards over a chair, her arms slung on the back, watching. Kevin was strapped into the chair beside her, chains and leather holding him still. The chair was not fixed to the ground, though, and every time he threw his weight forwards it tipped and threatened to topple. She put her foot on the leg, forcing it back down.

“I’ve told you how to make it stop.”

“I don’t know how! I don’t know how!”

“Oh, come on. To get from here to meet up with the floppy-haired Winchester? Either you got some _serious_ frequent flier miles, or you had help.”

“He just showed up! I didn’t do anything! I just… he was there!”

“Well, you never prayed, Kevin? Never got down on your knees and wished for a pony? It’s like that, except it’s your mom.”

“I’m trying! I’m trying!”

“Try harder. I need one of those feathered morons to help me find the other tablets.”

Kevin wanted to put his hands over his ears, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t, because they were bound down. Over and over howled his mother - not-mother, or was it her, he couldn’t tell - and it felt like claws raking down his back and leaving him raw. The other demon lifted the knife from her skin with a smug look, and Kevin jammed his eyes shut. He couldn’t stand to see the mess. The blood. The… _insides_.

“ _Please, God, please make it stop!_ ”

***

“Look, Cas… you know I wouldn’t call unless it wasn’t an emergency.”

“I understand that you believe that, Dean, but there are a lot of emergencies.”

Sam snorted. “Okay. We kind of deserve that. There’s been wrong on both sides, but maybe we can all agree to start over? What do you say?”

The angel peered at Sam, scrutinising him. He could sense no subterfuge, no hidden agenda… no secret anger like Dean nurtured. “Alright. I would like that. We were all friends, once.”

“We still are, Cas. Just… we all did some bad shit, and it’s time we stopped,” Dean agreed.

“You will not seek to hurt Crowley,” Cas insisted. “If we are to remain friends, that is my condition. My relationship with him is very real, and very serious. I know you do not understand, but I hope you can try to accept. And in return, I will ensure he does not do anything to hurt, harm or hinder you.”

He could hear Dean’s teeth grinding. 

“Fine,” Dean spat. “Don’t mean I gotta like the dick. But if you’re… if that’s what you wanna do with your life, then it’s your funeral.”

“So you called me here about the Prophet?”

Sam nodded. “He managed to bust out - even got a lift from one of your buddies, Samandriel? Yeah. He was working on the demon tablet, but Meg put pressure on his mom, and by the time we caught up with them, she took ‘em both off somewhere. We need him safe. It’s kinda our fault he’s in this mess, and then there’s whatever the Hell Meg is doing with those tablets…”

“Did you attempt to speak with Meg?” Cas asked.

“Dude… she ran off with the kid. Wasn’t like we all sat around with a divorce lawyer and agreed visitation rights and honouring the pre-nup,” Dean snarked.

“But still, have you attempted to reason with her? Perhaps you could convince her to--”

“Whatever you and Crowley got going on, that don’t mean every demon is friendly, Cas. I know she looked after you for a while, but trust me: Meg is out for Meg. We can sure try diplomacy when we catch up with her, but I ain’t holding my breath.”

“Fine.” Cas was not impressed. “I will first try to discuss it with her. I did hear… a cry for help. Not long ago. I could not pin it down properly, because it was not directed to me… but perhaps I can use that somehow to track them down. Or… I could ask Heaven if anyone has kept an eye on him.”

“Anything you can do to help, Cas, would be really appreciated.” That was Sam. Clearly they still felt like they had to walk on eggshells around him.

Cas understood. He had been less than… well. 

“I will let you know as soon as I can find anything out.”

***

Castiel went to Heaven as he had promised to see if he could find someone, anyone to help locate the Prophet. 

Except… it wasn’t Heaven as he had come to know it. It was much, much different. He was in an office, it seemed. A very bright office with sleek furniture and a woman - an angel - sitting behind the streamlined desk in a suit. It was not warm and welcoming like Crowley’s office. It was much different. It was cold and… something seemed… _off_.

“Hello, Castiel,” she greeted him calmly, her voice rising and falling without any emotion behind the inflection. Her hands clasped over the surface of the desk, she tilted her head up to look at him.

Still looking around, Cas asked, “Where am I?”

“You don't know? You're home, Castiel.”

“Heaven?” Not the Heaven Cas knew. Not even the other versions of Heaven that he hadn’t been to. This was different. This was _strange_. “I've never been here before.”

“Not many have. My name is Naomi.” Her hands steepled on the desk, and she scrutinised him through slitted eyes. “I was in the middle of organising your rescue party when you broke out, you know. You’ve saved me a lot of work, but if you’d escaped a little sooner it would have saved me even more.”

“You knew I was in Purgatory? And you were coming to rescue me?”

“I know almost anything that is worth knowing. Like I know you’ve come looking for information yourself, but if you want, then you have to give. So: tell me about Sam and Dean.”

“The demon Meg has both the Prophet and the demon tablet. I came here to find a way to track them down… the Winchesters feel responsible for him, and they have asked for my help.” Castiel blurted out the information before he ever _thought_ about keeping quiet. He narrowed his eyes at Naomi. Something was definitely **wrong** about this place.

“It is good that they rely upon you. Help the Winchesters, come when they call. You will report in to me regularly, and you will never remember having done so.”

“No. I won't do that.” Cas shook his head. Absolutely not.

She smiled. “Oh, you will. You do not have a choice, Castiel. Not if you ever want to come home for good. You will report back to me as I require, and it will remain our secret. You won’t even remember you’re doing it. Now… I need you to rescue the Prophet, the tablet, and also to find out what has happened to Samandriel. He answered the Prophet’s prayer. You will bring him back to me here for debriefing.” Her head went to the other shoulder. “That is where you will find them,” she said, as she planted the information inside his mind. “Now be on your way.”

***

Castiel looked around the room, blinking. There was Meg and the Prophet. How the Hell did he get here? He looked at Meg, hoping the surprise he felt didn’t show or come through in his voice. “Hello, Meg.”

“Clarence… fancy seeing you here.” Meg actually looked surprised, examining him intently. “Which flavour angel do we have today?”

“She’s gone crazy!” Kevin blurted out. “She’s kidnapped and tortured my mom! Castiel you gotta get us out of here!”

The angel looked from Kevin back to the demon. “Meg. I need you to stop this. I need to take Kevin and his mother and the angel Samandriel and I need to take them now.”

“Now, now, feathers. I can’t do that. I need the dictionary here, and the book.” Frown. “Wait… where’s your buddy?”

Cas took a deep breath in, blue Grace rising up from his chest to illuminate his eyes. His wings cast a shadow that nearly overtook the wall behind him and he looked down on Meg with a warning stare. “I said: I need to take them - and the tablet - with me. I don’t want to hurt you, Meg, but I will do what I have to do.”

“Now, now, Castiel, remember who your friends are? Remember who was there for you when you lost your mind? Who sat by your bedside? Wasn’t Crowley, and sure wasn’t those brothers… I just need the information he has in his head, and then you can have them back, I swear…”

“She tortured my _mom_ ,” Kevin squawked. “She hurt her!”

“Well, you _did_ run out on me…” Meg was backing up, her hand finding her angel blade ready to defend herself. “Come on, Castiel. For old time’s sake. Remember who really cares about you.”

Cas let his Grace fade down, the shadow of his wings no longer visible. His jaw was still set as he walked towards Meg and placed two fingers on her forehead, immediately rendering her unconscious. He bent down to pick up the angel blade on the floor and looked back at Kevin. “Do you know where your mother is?”

“You… you’re just gonna leave her?” Kevin asked. “She _tortured_ my Mom…”

“Kevin, we do not have time right now. She’ll be taken care of later. Right now, the important thing is getting you, your mother, and Samandriel out of here and to safety. Do you know where Meg is keeping them?”

“N-next room down, I think… they… they didn’t go far. Mom was possessed at one point. I don’t know if they’re… if…”

“Come on,” the angel said, walking out of the room quickly. A flick of the wrist and the two doors on either side of the hallway were opened at once. One room was empty, the other room had two demons rushing towards them. 

Castiel stopped them both, palms on their foreheads as he burned the smoke out them with his Grace, bright white light emitting from their meatsuits as they fell lifeless to the floor. They found Mrs. Tran first, who jumped up when Cas burst the door to her cell open.

Kevin looked at what - on the surface - was his mom, then at the angel for confirmation. When he nodded, he ran to her and grabbed her in a tight hug. “Mom… I’m so sorry… I never meant any of this…”

Linda Tran just held her son back. “Whatever is going on… it’s okay, Kevin. It’s okay. I don’t blame you at all. But let’s get out of here.” She narrowed her eyes at the other man, not sure if she should trust him or not.

“That’s Castiel,” Kevin said, pulling back from her embrace. “He’s an angel. Those other things are demons, and I’m a Prophet.”

She snorted. “I always knew you were something special, but this is something even for you, Kevin.”

A thin smile. “I know, right?”

“I think… I think the screaming came from down there,” Kevin said, nodding down the corridor. “It… it sounded like Samandriel. Mom… that’s another angel.”

“With a name like that I wasn’t expecting him to be a Leprechaun,” Linda answered. “Come on. There’s at least eight of them in this place. I’ve been keeping tabs on them… one of them was _in_...” a shudder. “...in me. So I got to know some of their faces, some of their routines. There is normally two of them around the - angel? The angel’s door.”

“You know where Samandriel is?” Castiel looked back towards the hallway. “We should go straight to his room.”

“I know where he is,” Linda agreed. She pushed up her sleeves. “How do we fight them, though?”

“Castiel can kill them, Mom.”

“Alright. In that case, it’s down there, third door on the left.”

Cas wasted no time in heading down the hall, a quick glance behind him to make sure Kevin and Linda were following him. He was met by another demon who yelled out just before the seraph’s Grace was searing it from the inside out. 

“Hurry. And stay close.” Castiel picked up the pace he was moving as he used his Grace once more to fling open the door to the room his brother was in. Two more demons came at him that he dispatched immediately. 

Cas’ heart fell as he saw the metal contraption on Samandriel’s head, metal rods protruding from his skull. He removed them carefully and placed a hand to his head, letting his Grace heal his brother. Samandriel could probably heal himself, but he looked weak and terrified. Meg had done this...

As the spikes were removed, the angel stirred slowly, looking up with pleased surprise. “Castiel,” he said, faintly. “You came.” He was clearly distressed. “They… they blocked out my ability to call… they… Castiel, they _tortured_ me…”

“I am sorry, Samandriel. But you’ll be okay now. You’re safe with me.” Castiel gave Samandriel a smile. He wasn’t entirely sure he believed those words, but they were the best he had right now. 

“We should probably leave,” Linda said. “As fast as we can. In case this place has alarms and more people come.”

Kevin nodded. “I have the tablet, and that’s all of us. Uhm. Could you… you know. The thing where you vanish us?”

Shakily, Samandriel stood. He put a hand on Linda’s shoulder, and nodded to Cas. “...to the Hunters?”

Cas nodded to Mrs. Tran and Kevin, and with a flap of his wings, they were all back in the Winchesters’ cabin.

***

Crowley called the two demons to his office. _His_ office. Which had undergone some changes in his absence. Changes he had rapidly set right. He could sort of get why they’d felt the need to alter things, but it was his damned room at the end of the day. At least he hadn’t come back to complete chaos or a Battle Royale. He placed three glass tumblers on the desk and waited for them to show up. He did not have to wait all that long.

“Cecily,” he said, nodding to her first, as was custom and polite, interim King or no. “And Scotius. I understand I have you both to thank for the smooth running of my kingdom in my absence.”

Cecily nodded with a smile. She would’ve said ‘anything for you, my King’ had Scotius not been standing right next to her.

“Someone had to step up, right?” Scotius said. “Glad to see you back, boss.” After being shown mercy from Crowley previously, he figured it was, indeed, best to stay on the good side of the King of Hell. A little sucking up couldn’t hurt… 

Crowley nodded to the glasses, asking silently if they wanted to share. When they indicated yes, he poured one each out, and waved at the chairs across from him. “Still, I’m glad you both showed initiative and tact, in handling the situation. It is precisely what I would have wanted you to do, and I couldn’t have left Hell in better hands.” 

A grin, as he swirled his Craig around, letting the scent drift up first. “And now I owe you both one favour each. Which you can either take now, or you can wait until there’s something you want. Well. Other than my throne. I’m keeping that.”

Cecily beamed. She was so glad Crowley wasn’t angry with her decision. “I think I’ll wait on mine.” 

Scotty looked over at Cecily with a grin, then back to Crowley. “It’d be pretty sweet to have my own little island somewhere tropical, don’t ya think, Cec?”

“I’m sure I can find one for you. Complete with its own tax haven, little villa and a pleasure yacht, too?” Crowley’s eyes rolled up as he ran through a mental list of assets. “Yes… I know just the place. It’s normally used for the ten year deal lot, but I think I can make an exception for you, considering.”

“Perfect. Can’t wait to see it,” Scotty said, leaning back in the chair, nodding as he thought about it.

“Is there anything I need to know about, anything that happened in my absence?” he asked, head to one side. 

“...not much, boss,” Cecily answered. “Mostly stuff was quiet. Few rumbles about the temporary change, but we handled that. Meg is up to something, though. You know she has the Prophet?”

“I do now.”

“I’ve been trying to find her, but she is always one step ahead. When we do get her, if we could torture out those methods from her, it would be way helpful for the future.”

“Once I am done extracting my revenge, I will make sure someone has a go at retrieving the information for you,” Crowley promised.

“Perfs! Well. That’s all, really. It’s just so great to have you back, King!”

“And it’s good to be back.” He raised his glass in a toast. “To Hell.”


	67. Chapter 67

“Whoa, whoa… there’s more tablets?” Dean asked.

“That’s what it implies,” Kevin agreed. “Meg thought so too. She got really interested in that, but there’s nothing in the notes that says _what_ tablets there are.”

In the corner, Samandriel shuffled from foot to foot.

“...that’s when she called for you,” Linda pointed out. “I was still… possessed. At the time.”

“That true?” Dean asked. “Why she go and call for an angel?”

“I was… I was only answering the Prophet’s prayers…”

Cas put a hand on the younger angel’s shoulder. “I know, Samandriel. You were trying to protect the Prophet. It was an admirable sentiment. No one will judge you for that.”

Glumly, the angel nodded. 

“There’s an angel tablet, isn’t there?” Sam guessed. “That’s what she wanted you for. She wanted information on the whereabouts of it. Stands to reason if the demon tablet talks about demonic weaknesses, then the angel tablet?”

“I did not mean to tell them,” Samandriel blurted out. “I could not control… it was not deliberate!”

Seeing the other angel so distressed was upsetting to Cas. “If you were under duress, no one can blame you, Samandriel.”

“But I told him secrets! Things we shouldn’t even know! I remembered them. I remembered _her_ \--”

Castiel was about to ask who ‘she’ was, when the room changed. Instead of the cabin, he was in somewhere white and clinical.

“What--”

“Stop him talking, Castiel.”

“What?”

“He must not mention any more of this. If he does, you will need to kill the Hunters.”

“I will do no such--”

A blink, and the cabin was there. “You will tell me later. In Heaven.”

“I can’t go back to Heaven,” Samandriel insisted. “I can’t. Not when--”

“ _Enough_ ,” the seraph said, surprising himself with the word. “We will discuss this privately. Samandriel, you have said too much.”

The other angel nodded, resigned.

“Wait, Cas,” Dean started.

“No, this is a matter for angels, Dean. You must take care of the Prophet and the Word. I will return later.”

“Cas, this is not what we - _damnit, Cas_!”

***

“Oh no… Naomi, please…”

Castiel was confused. He didn’t fully understand why he’d felt compelled to bring the other angel away, or where ‘here’ was. This white, bright room. The angel in the sharp suit, who Samandriel called Naomi. 

“How do you remember me?” she asked. “What else do you remember?”

“I did not mean to tell them, I had no choice…”

Naomi nodded, and Castiel found himself slamming Samandriel into a chair. The other angel peered up worriedly at him, but Castiel could not find his tongue to reassure him, or to ask why he was doing this. 

The female angel brushed fingers over Samandriel’s scalp. There was no sign of the damage, but Castiel remembered seeing the bits drilled into his head. He remembered the matted, dried blood and the horrific holes before he’d wiped it all clean. 

“She found some way to bypass you, didn’t she?” It sounded as if Naomi was grimly impressed. “What did you tell her? You told her…” Head to one side, eyes sharpening. “About the tablet.”

Samandriel nodded. 

“Did you tell them about me?”

He shook his head.

“Do they know where to find it?”

Another shake of his head.

“Good.” Then she turned to Castiel. “Finish this.”

“I-- I cannot--”

“ **Now**.”

Castiel felt his angel blade slip down his sleeve and into his hand, though he did not mean to do it. “Naomi, please…”

The older angel snapped her fingers, and Castiel found himself moving. The blade was up and though Samandriel’s eyes begged for mercy, he could not - **could not** \- resist. He pushed it into the other angel, and Grace flared hot and white around him, a flicker of wings in his death-throes, and then… then he was gone. Cas looked up at Naomi, demanding answers.

“You will find the tablet, Castiel. You will find it, and retrieve it. No matter the costs.”

“Samandiriel... was good. And I was trying to atone for--”

“Samandiriel was broken,” she insisted. “He revealed the existence of what I would die to protect – what any of us would die to protect. The angel tablet, Castiel. Meg knows.”

“I just murdered one of our own to protect a tablet?”

“If the demon tablet can seal demons in Hell, what do you think the angel tablet could do to us? You're a hero, Castiel. You've done Heaven a great service.”

“And that's what I tell Sam and Dean? What do I tell the Prophet, when he asks where his guardian angel has gone?”

“You can tell them you do not know where he has gone, because you will not remember this.”

“Why? Why are you doing this? Why did you have me kill him, if you know how to make me forget?”

“Because he had remembered me, Castiel. And that was dangerous. Above all else, Heaven must be kept safe. And to do that, I must remain concealed. My whole order must. And you… you have killed angels in the past.”

“You can’t just… kill any angel who poses a threat, Naomi. I found that out. The hard way.”

“I didn’t kill anyone, Castiel. You did. And when the security of Heaven is at stake, then someone must make the difficult decisions. But you should not worry yourself. Everything will be fine.”

And in another blink, Castiel was gone.

Alone.

***

“You look troubled, angel,” Crowley said when Castiel finally returned. “Did your play date with the Winchesters not go according to plan?”

Cas sighed, and went to sit on the couch. He clasped his hands together, and stared down at his feet. “There were some… problems they needed my help for.”

“Well they never call you round for beer, pizza and a Giants game so colour me unsurprised, sweetheart.” 

Crowley sat down beside him, and Cas was grateful. The demon knocked his knee against his, and Cas offered a tiny smile in return.

“I have told them that they cannot in any way seek to harm or trouble you, and that you would agree to the same. A truce, if you will. I know you do not like them, nor they you, but I believe you can form a respectful truce, between you.”

Crowley nodded. “To keep you happy, of course I will. I’ll still protect myself, but I’ll make it public knowledge that unless attacked, none of mine are to bother your little pet humans.”

Cas smiled and clutched at the demon’s knee. He knew he meant it, truly. It was the Hunters who would be less motivated to comply. “They called me there because the Prophet was in danger. Meg had taken him - twice - and she had in her possession… a tablet.”

“I’m guessing not the one about the dicks, from your worried expression?”

A nod. “This one was about demons. It spoke of how to control, expel, protect from and kill demons. It also detailed a spell to seal off Hell.”

Crowley whistled through his teeth. “I see. Sounds… powerful. And now?”

“Now Kevin and the tablet - plus his mother - are all safe.”

“And Meg?”

“...I incapacitated her. Kevin says she knows minimal information. She knows that there is a spell, but not how to complete it.”

“...incapacitated? Cas… she’s a _menace_. She tried to have me **killed**.”

“...as did the Winchesters,” the angel pointed out, looking forlorn. “I know you do not like her, but I do not want to be responsible for any more deaths, Crowley. I am sorry.”

He could hear the demon’s teeth grinding. “Right. Fine. I’ll see to it myself, then. Don’t worry your head about it.” He ran his hand over his face, dropping down to one elbow on his knee. “The Winchesters having that tablet is a major risk to me. You _know_ they won’t leave something like that untouched. You _know_.”

“I know,” he agreed. “But if you and they could come to some arrangement…”

“You _know_ Dean thinks any ‘deal’ with me is tantamount to slaughtering innocent babies, right? Fine… fine. I’ll talk to them. But you’re not giving me a good foundation, a good bargaining position to start from… that’s not all, is it? Something else is worrying you.”

“The… demon and leviathan tablets are not the only tablets.”

“Listening.”

“The notes imply… well. That there is a series of them. And Meg had captured an angel, Samandriel, and--”

“There’s an _angel tablet_ , isn’t there?”

A nod.

“...which… is dangerous.” The demon was working through it. “It might have things on there you don’t want being made public… but then, it might also be helpful. If it’s in the right hands, of course.”

“The Winchesters are trying to find it.”

“Oh, screw that. I’m going to get Cecily on it. And if she finds it, then _I_ am keeping it. Safe. Away from everyone.”

“...but would it be safe?”

“Bloody would be where I’d put it, angel. Believe me.”

Cas smiled. “Yes. I believe it would be.”

The demon reached up, wrapping a hand around the back of Cas’ neck, pulling him down so he could kiss at his temple. “Told you. You’re the most important thing on the planet, Cas. As long as you’re happy, and safe… and **I’m** safe… the rest can all go hang.”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

Crowley laughed. “Well, you did go nuts, proclaim yourself the new Sheriff, exploded, lost your memory and dragged me to Purgatory… I think the universe is right in punishing you with me.”

Cas smiled, turning to kiss at the inside of Crowley’s wrist. “If you are my punishment, then perhaps my sins were worth the stain on my Grace, demon.”

“Come on. I’ve been craving milk and cookies and your feet in my lap. Shall we catch up on some of our shows, and stop talking shop?”

The angel nodded. He liked the sound of that very much. “I would like to see how Marnie is faring. Your programming is strangely addictive.”

“I know, right? Thank Hell for Netflix.” 

***

“It will get easier with time,” Naomi said, reassuringly. “You have been badly damaged, Castiel. It will take time to fix you.”

She stepped over one of the hundreds of Sam Winchester copies on the floor. There had been no noticeable difference with these compared to the Dean Winchesters she had forced him to kill. He was very resistant, she’d found. Much harder to convince than most. Of course, most angels would take the order: ‘Kill this’ and act immediately. Still. He was an angel, underneath it all, and she simply had to find the right point in his programming to make him work once more.

A snap, and the replica corpses vanished, and in their place was the first of many demons. She suspected that the King of Hell would be the most difficult to train him with, but the troublesome Meg and then the King’s right hand demon would be a good start. She was nothing if not thorough.

Castiel glanced from Meg to Naomi, eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Course you don’t,” Meg drawled. “We’re buddies, aren’t we, Clarence?”

Naomi did not budge. “You do not have a choice, Castiel. This is your duty. Heaven needs you to do this. Kill her.”

“She helped me when no one else did. She stayed by my side. Can’t I just let someone else kill her? Can’t you do it?”

“Or you could just ice Mary Poppins here, you know,” Meg snapped, arms folded across her chest. “Course I helped you. No one else did, did they? When you went all barnhouse on us.”

“She is a demon,” Naomi said, voice calm but sure. “And she means to endanger Heaven, and all we work for. **End. Her.** ”

Castiel gripped his angel blade tighter. He didn’t want to kill Meg - he didn't want to kill _anyone_ else. He shook his head, jaw clenched, trying not to look at either of them. “No.”

Meg held out her hand, making a graspy gesture. “C’mon, Cas. Give me the knife. I’ll shiv the bitch. No one needs to know.”

“ **Do it** ,” Naomi repeated, exerting her not-inconsiderable will. “Kill her, before she kills you.”

“You know I wouldn’t,” Meg scoffed.

“ _You know she would_.”

Cas looked at the women as they spoke. Meg wouldn’t kill him… _would she_? 

**You know she would**. Cas shook his head. He didn’t want to. No. He really didn’t. His head tilted to the side as his features softened. _I’m sorry_. He felt like he had no control over his arm as it flew into Meg’s abdomen. 

“I’m sorry.” The angel looked sadly at the dead Meg on the floor. He angrily turned his eyes back to Naomi. 

“Again,” Naomi said, and nodded to the side. She showed no signs of pleasure with his progress, because it was slow and difficult. He was slow and difficult. He must become much faster at this, if he was to be useful.

The new Meg stood just inches away from where the old one lay ‘dead’.

“Well hello, lover-boy,” came the same voice from the same lips, the same eyes glinting when they saw him. “Fancy seeing you here. What’s with the shoulderpads?”

Cas heaved a sigh. Perhaps if he just did what Naomi asked of him this would be over sooner. “I’m sorry, Meg. You were good to me.” He shoved the blade into the same place in her midsection. “No more.” He didn’t even give Naomi the courtesy of looking at her as he spoke. “I’m done here.”

A snap, and there was a third Meg. “You will be done when I say you are done, Castiel, and no sooner.”

Every time Cas shoved his blade into Meg and the light left her eyes as she fell lifeless to the floor, another appeared. The angel’s proclamations of the demon treating him well turned into a simple _I’m sorry_. But the Megs didn’t stop appearing. Pretty soon, even the spoken words turned into a look that Cas hoped conveyed his apologies. The sooner this whole ordeal was over with the better. A new Meg appeared and was immediately stabbed. Cas hadn’t even looked at her face.

“Good,” Naomi said, when she was satisfied. “Now it’s time for the next round.”


	68. Chapter 68

Cas looked around. He was in Hell, but hadn’t he just been with the Winchesters. These lapses in his memory were becoming slightly concerning. Crowley wasn’t far from where the angel stood. He flicked his hand, slamming the door to the King’s office open so hard it hit the wall behind it. He grinned at the demon. He wasn’t entirely sure what had just come over him but his vessel’s heart was pounding and he felt… **aggressive**. It was strange - the last thing he remembered was talking quietly to Sam and Dean. 

“Hello, demon.” Castiel’s voice was a low, deep growl.

“Well hello, angel,” Crowley said, looking up. He wasn’t sure why the sudden noise, because since they’d got back from Purgatory, Cas had been more… subdued. He didn’t look it, now.

“Bad day at the office, sweetie? You look tense.”

Castiel thought for a moment, eyes glancing down at the floor. “No… just… maybe…”

In a blink, Cas was in front of Crowley, picking him up from the chair by his tie. “Maybe I just missed you.” He held the back of the demon’s head as he kissed him roughly. Yes. That must be it. He must have just been missing Crowley… 

Oh, well, now. That was a long time coming. Crowley let himself be manhandled to his feet, fingers going at once to tangle in the angel’s perfectly ridiculous coat. He purred into the kiss, making it well known that he approved. He nipped at Cas’ mouth just once before he parted his lips slightly, not wanting to be _too_ much of a pushover. 

“...missed you too,” he answered, when he could pull back for long enough to speak. “Always miss you. Some days more than others…”

Castiel moved the two of them to the nearest wall, pinning Crowley’s back against it, fisting his suit jacket. He nipped at the demon’s lips hard, moving to his jaw and then his throat. He dragged his tongue back up Crowley’s neck, enjoying the feel of his stubble against the softness of his tongue before moving to the demon’s ear. “Tell me, my King, just _how much_ did you miss me?”

Christ but that felt good. He hadn’t felt the focus of so much dedicated, fierce attention in… forever. He’d tried to pretend he hadn’t missed it. Tried to not fantasise about it, and instead to be happy with what he got… but he had to be honest with himself, he _loved_ when his angel got pushy and possessive. He even liked it when he got jealous, because it made him feel wanted. Crowley fumbled awkwardly with the angel’s tie, even as he pushed fingers up his neck and into his hair, hissing under the kisses, the licks, the nips. Damn, but the angel made him hot.

“S-so much I don’t even have words, angel. I missed you like this. I missed you taking what’s yours. We had a deal, remember? I’m yours. All yours. Any minute you’re not touching me is a minute I’m only half alive, waiting for you. _Fuck_ , yes…”

Castiel dragged his hand down Crowley’s body, stopping at his belt. “You missed being bossed around? Being made to kneel before me? To please me and do exactly as I say? To me being _your_ King?”

Fuck, yes. Crowley could barely _see_ past the sudden red haze over his eyes. Damn, but he loved when the angel talked like that. Loved hearing filth past those perfect, pink lips In that rough, growly voice. He let out a terribly unregal whimper, nodding, and thrusting into that hand by his belt. “Yes, yes, Cas, a thousand times yes.” His tongue peeked out, his eyes begging. “Please, G--” Shit. No. Not ‘God’. “...Castiel… would… would you like me to kneel, my angel?”

The seraph purrgrowled in the demon’s ear. “Not just yet.” Castiel unfastened the belt then yanked it off, tossing it aside. He rubbed a palm down the front of Crowley’s pants. A snap and his trousers were pooled around his feet. He moved his hand up under the King’s shirt roughly, popping buttons as he moved. “Take your jacket off, demon.”

Crowley had never obeyed a command faster in his life. The jacket was off and dropped to the floor without even a second thought for the creases, or the mess. Feet coming free from the pants, leaving only shoes, socks, the torn-open shirt and his tie still on. His hands were shaking, but it wasn’t nerves. Nope. Definitely not. He wasn’t worried in case the angel’s mood might vanish if he was anything less than one hundred and ten percent compliant. “Anything, my… King,” he insisted, eyes searching Cas’, trying to work out what to do next. _Tell me, Cas, tell me_. He didn’t dare reach out and touch back, in case it broke the moment. Not when the air was thick like a storm about to happen, not when his tongue felt thick and his hands swollen and impossible to control. _Tell me_ , his eyes begged.

“Put your hands on me.”

“...where?” the demon asked, though he wasn’t sure how he managed to speak. “Please, Cas… I just want to make you happy… tell me how to make you smile?”

The angel cupped the demon’s face, kissing him gently. “You _know_ how to make me smile, my love. Now… _put your hands on me_.” He guided Crowley’s hands down to his crotch. “There.”

He nodded, a broken little smile revealing just how worried he was, and it was telling that he didn’t try to conceal it. What would be the point? He would not lie to his angel. He could not. One hand, the heel pressed against the rising bulge, palming him roughly through his pants. He could tell the angel was already ready for him, and it sent an answering jolt through his own belly, straight to his dick. God, but he loved to make the angel smile. His other hand made light work of the belt, unfastening it and then leaving it open as he peeled back the layers, then shoved his hand right inside Cas’ boxers. A little laugh, and he started to stroke him up and down. “Like that, love? Or do you want it harder?”

Castiel grabbed Crowley’s wrist to stop him. “You’re not… afraid of me are you?” That was the last thing Castiel wanted. He wanted them both to enjoy this equally.

A vehement headshake. “Of you? No. Of not making you happy?” Crowley bit his lip. “I could never be afraid of you, Cas. Losing you, but not having you.” He lifted the hand that wasn’t held, to brush his thumb over the angel’s cheek. “I missed… this. I guess so much that now I’m terrified of losing it again.”

The angel turned his head to kiss at the thumb on his cheek before nipping at it with a grin. “My love… you… I love you.” Another nip and then a shove back against the wall. “Where were we?” He buried his face in the demon’s neck, scraping his teeth over the skin there. “Keep doing what you were doing before.”

“Where were we?” His laugh was a little broken, because those **teeth** \- God damnit! - Crowley wanted more of that. “You were… breaking my tiny mind… _ohgodharderCasharder_...” A hand wrapping that stupid tie around it, the other jacking him off dry and rough, slamming into his balls and twisting and pressing and pushing and pulling. Damnit, but he wanted that in him. Somewhere. Anywhere. “Don’t tease me, angel… it’s been so long…”

Castiel sank his teeth into Crowley's neck, making sure he'd leave a mark before running a tongue over it and pressing his lips against it.

"On your knees. I need to feel your mouth around me."

Crowley wailed in pleasure at the biting, but it only made him want _more_. It was like a blood fever, driving him insane. More. Yes. But Cas wanted him down, and so down he (slightly reluctantly) went, grabbing tight hold of Cas’ hips and licking vigorously over the proud, pink dick that rose up to meet him. He’d missed this, too. On his knees, on eye-level with something he adored so intensely. “Don’t be gentle,” he begged, and with a wet, slurping lick from root to tip, he wrapped his lips around it and sunk down as far as he could. It stung his throat, and made his eyes water, but he welcomed the angel deep, deep inside and he swallowed compulsively around him. A strangled little moan of pleasure, and then he was fucking his face over that dick of his, like he’d never stopped.

Castiel's hands were on either side of the demon's head at once, head dropping back to let a low moan escape his throat. He looked down at his King on his knees and instinctively thrust his hips forward roughly.

_Fuck_. That felt amazing. Another couple of (slightly unsure) thrusts and then he was fucking roughly into the demon's mouth with an almost-steady growl. Fuckfuckfuck. The angel was so turned on he thought he might ruin everything by coming _much_ too quickly so he **pushed** the demon back off. He reached down and grabbed Crowley by the tie with a snarl. "You and that _fucking_ mouth of yours." 

A blip and they were on the bed - **their** bed - with Crowley underneath the angel. Cas bit his King's neck again - hard like he liked it - before tearing off the demon's tie with his teeth. He moved his hips slowly against Crowley's, making sure their dicks were rubbing against one another. "Tell me what you want me to do to you, demon."

What did he want? What didn’t Crowley want, would be easier to list. He hissed between his teeth at the slide of dick-to-dick, his brain fogging over. A shake, to try and clear it. “Take me hard, angel. Take me so hard I feel it tomorrow. Bent over, knees to my ears… I don’t care. I just need to feel you split me in two.” 

A hand on his shoulder, and… did he dare ask? What would Cas say? The hesitation was there on his face, his lip chewed in thought.

Cas flicked his tongue over Crowley's lips. He could tell the demon wanted to say something. "What's on your mind, my King?"

It was hard to swallow, but he did. Should he? His eyes flickered to the tie and back. "Demon, remember? I like... I like it rough. I like to feel just the right side of being destroyed, Cas. When it's you."

He lifted his chin up, proudly. "You could use it. Around my throat. While you take me so hard I see stars." Unsure if he'd gone too far, he shrugged, downplaying it. "Or just bite my throat and call me a whore. That works too."

Cas slid his hand up Crowley's chest, stopping around his neck and _squeezed_.

"You wanna see stars, do you, love?" He squeezed harder.

Unable to speak - but not from constriction - the demon nodded. He did. Very much so. He'd missed his angel when his mood was more... go-getting. Missed it a lot. He put his hand over Cas' and let his fingertips caress to encourage him.

Somewhere in the back of the angel’s mind, was worry. Worry about hurting Crowley, about taking things too far, but the forefront of his brain made him release the demon’s throat, only to grab Crowley’s tie and wrap it around his hand, pulling tighter, _tighter_. Castiel snarled, his other hand pushing Crowley’s head to the side and sinking his teeth into the demon’s neck hard enough to draw blood.

Holy fuck but that felt good. The tight, painful sensations alongside the sudden fight for air, his lungs heaving and the demon was fighting the instinctual urge to fight him off. His dick went harder still as he felt the wet heat on his neck. "Yes, Cas, god yes - please don't stop. Please, angel..." 

Castiel couldn’t decide if he enjoyed the sharp, tangy taste of Crowley’s blood or not, so he just kept running his tongue over it. He dragged his teeth over the wound again, biting once more. He moved a hand down in between them, stroking both of their dicks at the same time for a moment before moving his hand down farther. He pushed Crowley’s legs apart roughly, dipping a Grace-slicked finger into him. 

_Fuck_ that was so much easier than it was in Purgatory. Feeling encouraged by Crowley’s reactions, he wasted no time before adding a second, then third finger in. It wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t slow. It was needy and impatient and _hungry_.

Cas let go of the tie, sitting on his knees, Crowley’s blood smeared all over his mouth as he grabbed the back of Crowley’s legs, and pushed his fingers into him much faster than he normally would.

This was new, even for them. Not that he minded being surprised. Not one bit. Crowley scratched his fingernails over the angel's strong shoulders, burbling in pleasure at the harsh biting. "Yes, angel, don't be shy. I can take it. I _want_ to take it. Hurt me, Cas. Make me yours."

He humped the angel's hand, tongue poking out as Cas worked their shafts together. But when his fingers were inside, Crowley moved to wrap his legs around his lover's waist, lifting up eagerly, fucking himself down. "Harder, Cas, HARDER, please! Don't hold back Jesus Christ don't you dare... Please don't hold back I need it to hurt, Castiel... I need to..."

Watching Crowley squirming and begging was almost too much. Cas couldn't hold back any longer as he pulled his fingers out, grabbed hold of his own stiff cock and shoved it into the demon with a growl. He bent down, arms behind the back of Crowley's knees pushing them back towards the bed as he bit at Crowley's lips hard, drawing more blood. 

Cas felt... strange... almost drunk... he felt... _feral_. The seraph buried his face against Crowley's neck with a moan as he fucked the demon into the mattress **hard**. He meant to kiss over his chest, his collarbone, but ended up with more skin between his teeth.

All of which was just everything the demon needed and more. He couldn't escape under the hands holding him splayed wide open, a howl on his lips. He grabbed a handful of hair, gouging pink lines through the seraph's warm, golden skin.

The hit of endorphins felt like a shot of drugs straight into his veins, a stream of yes, yes, yes... He tried to buck under him, but really he was helpless, overpowered, and the knowledge made his cock leak. Every last slam felt like it was about to drive him over the edge, but his body refused, just edging higher. "Please, love. I've missed this. I've missed you. Show me who's boss, Cas, I'll do anything you fucking want just don't don't stop!"

A messy kiss, Crowley’s blood smearing onto his own face and then a flap of wings and Cas was behind the demon who was now on his knees. He grabbed Crowley’s hips and shoved back into him with enough force to slam the demon’s head against the headboard. He snapped Crowley’s shirt off, but left the tie, which he reached around to the front of the demon’s neck to grab. He pulled back on it hard, pulling his lover up with it. 

Cas growled, low and full of lust. “Is this how you like it, my King?”

Crowley couldn't keep up, his head swimming. One minute on his back, the next flipped. His angel was so gloriously powerful, even without borrowed souls. Crowley couldn't help but admire him, his lips curling into a broad grin under the taste of his own metallic blood.

The blow to his head staggered him, making him dizzy, and for a moment he was limp like a ragdoll, but then he was yanked up by the tie. It choked the breath from him and he scrabbled to hold onto the headboard so he could push back against him. "Yes," he croaked, voice rasping, "...ohgodyes... I'm yours, all yours, please yes angel, show me Heaven." He was rutting empty air, keening because his cock was dying to be touched. 

Cas reached around with his other hand, grasping Crowley’s dick hard and stroking as he bit into the spot where the demon’s neck and shoulder met, drawing more blood. Castiel wasn’t sure why he enjoyed the feel of the warm liquid so much but _damn_ , he really, really did. He ran his lips through it again, streaking it across the King’s back. 

“Mine,” the seraph growled into Crowley’s ear. “ **Mine**.”

If he was going to last under the biting, under the touching… well, there was no way Crowley could hold back when the angel _snarled_ at him like he was owned. He was. Utterly owned. From top to toe, from his smoke out. “YesCasyes…” The headboard snapped in two, splintering between his hands, as Crowley fucked his hand for all he was worth, **yelling** the angel’s name as he came all over angel’s hand.

Castiel let out a positively animalistic _howl_ in the form of Crowley’s name as the demon spilled on his hand. He stroked him a couple more times sloppily before letting go and wrapping his arm around the demon, pulling him back against him as he pounded into him. He pulled the tie once more, hard, coiling it around his hand so Crowley’s back was flush with the angel’s body. 

The change in position was too much for the seraph to take as he grunted the demon’s name, filling him with his hot, sticky seed. He held Crowley against him for a moment, letting the tie go as he tried to catch his breath. “I love you, my King,” he panted. 

When the angel stopped, Crowley let go of the headboard and went face-first into the pillow. There was a vague grunt from the bed, and he just laid completely still. He was hurting terribly - his neck and shoulder were a bloodied mess, his ass ridden ten ways to Hell and back. The demon turned his head and peered back at him, a stupid, goofy smile on his lips. “Hmnf.”

The angel lowered himself down next to Crowley, the same ridiculous grin on his face. “I’m guessing you enjoyed that, then?”

There was a little snort that passed for a ‘yes’ and then he pushed his nose to the angel’s. “Mmmm.” Another nudge, and he went for Cas’ hand. He held it, and then grinned from ear to ear. “Oh god yes. Oh _god_ yes. That was… that was incredible, love. You **have** to do it again… a **lot**.” He tried to roll, but his back kind of throbbed, and he just managed to sort of half roll instead. 

He pushed his head closer on the bed, purring somewhere low in his chest. “Promise me. Promise me…”

Castiel smiled, cupping his demon’s face with his free hand and kissing him gently over the bite on Crowley’s lips. He let his hand slowly trail down his neck. There sure was a lot of blood… the angel narrowed his eyes slightly. He had done this. What if he had gone too far? What if he had actually managed to hurt Crowley? He’d never be able to forgive himself. He shifted a bit, tongue flicking out over his lips only to remind him that his face was probably _covered_ in Crowley’s blood.

“--I…” What, Cas? You’re sorry? No… obviously Crowley enjoyed it… “I’m not entirely sure what came over me.”

“Whatever it was, I liked it,” Crowley said, still beaming like a lunatic. “Bloody Hell, I liked it. Christ. I think you actually blew something in my head and heart, Cas…” 

The hand holding his was shaking, slightly, and now that the exertion was over, he felt strung out from the adrenaline high. A laugh that was bordering on the manic. “... _damn_ but that was incredible. I mean it. I… I know you probably think I’m some whore, but angel? **No one** has ever made me feel like you do. No one, Cas.”

“I don’t think you’re a whore, Crowley. Not at all…” Castiel trailed off. “Can I… confess something?”

“You know you can tell me anything, angel. Anything.” He pulled his hand up, kissing softly over the seraph’s knuckles. “I adore you, I always will… no matter what.”

“I don’t know what happened between talking to the Winchesters and coming here to see you, but… it was like I had no control over myself. It was… a bit… terrifying.” He looked down at Crowley’s neck, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I still don’t feel… _right_. How do I find the correct combination of me?”

Although it was difficult, Crowley knew this was more important than a little physical discomfort, so he managed to roll over, and pull his angel closer. “I see. You had a blackout of sorts, is that what you mean? Or… what, Cas?” He reached up to cup his face. “It’s a little worrying, but we can keep an eye on you… no? And you… you went through some really difficult things. It’s no surprise you’re feeling a bit ‘off’. Maybe you need a bit more time to fix. Or…” 

Crowley trailed off, not really sure what the ‘or’ was. “We’ll work it out. I mean. You’re an angel, Cas. You can heal others, maybe we just have to work out how you heal you?”

“Not exactly a blackout. I remember everything… and I enjoyed it as well,” a tiny smile and if angels could blush, he would have, “but it was more like I was unable to stop, I suppose. I worry what could’ve happened… I could’ve ended up hurting you or-- or even worse…”

“I don’t think you’d ever hurt me, Cas. Not really. I mean - look what happened before. You had the Leviathans inside of you, and even then I knew I was completely safe. I trust you. I trust you with my life.” There was no question about that for him. “I’m serious. It was incredible, sweetheart. And… you don’t need to worry about hurting me. Ever. As long as I have you… I’m the happiest creature around.”

Castiel looked up at Crowley, running a finger over the bites on his throat ever so gently. “I love you so much. I’m not sure what I did to deserve you, but I’m so glad you are in my life, demon.”

“Keep doing it!” Crowley snorted, and then pulled his hand up - smeared with blood - and pressed his lips to it, eyes on him the whole time. “Because nothing - not Heaven, Hell, Hunters… **nothing** will keep us apart again.” 

Another smile before the angel pressed his lips to Crowley’s, hand grabbing the demon’s head. He could still taste the blood, but it didn’t matter. Crowley was fine. He was fine-- or… he was going to be fine at least. As long as he had his demon, he was safe… complete.


	69. Chapter 69

“Oh, angel… aaaaangel…” Crowley shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he waited for his prayers to be answered. He figured they would be, eventually. Assuming the angel in question was still alive, of course. His prayers had (eventually) always been answered in the past.

Naomi heard Crowley’s prayers, she just didn’t feel the need to answer them right away. He was persistent, she’d give him that. Reluctantly she appeared in the shadows of the crypt.

“Darling, you came! So good to see you after all this time.” He grinned widely at her. “Love what you’ve done with the vessel. New haircut, right? And those shoulder pads are definitely a nice change. Power suits really do flatter you.”

Naomi stared at Crowley, her face expressionless. “I see you still talk too much. Cut to the chase, I’m very busy.”

“I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule for little old me… but in reality, it’s not me I’ve called you here for. You still got your finger on the pulse, like the good old days? You still at the centre of the web, feeling the strands vibrate when we all walk across them?”

“You called me here for someone else, did you? Go on…”

Crowley wondered if she was playing coy, or if she really didn’t know. Still. She’d find out sooner or later. “The angel of Thursday is rather blue, Naomi. I don’t know if you’d noticed or not. Wet like a winter’s afternoon. No?”

“Of course I’ve noticed, Crowley. Something like that doesn’t just go amiss on my radar. Did you call me here to _make a deal_? I know how you love deals.”

The demon’s head tilted to one side. “Listening… so you’re saying you know of a way to fix him? Because that’s the only thing I’m interested in, right now. And so you have me at a disadvantage…”

“I do happen to know of a way to fix him. Find the angel tablet. Bring it to me at once. Then I’ll fix Castiel.” 

“Really? You’d hold out on healing one of your own, over something as silly as some chicken scratchings of a lunatic scribe to an absentee father on some old, rotten stone? That’s really worth more to you than - say - Castiel’s psychological health?” Crowley tutted at his teeth. “You angels really are something, you know that, right?”

The angel chuckled. “Why should I worry about one broken angel when I have thousands more at the ready that require no work on my part?” 

Crowley squinted at her. Really? God, he’d forgotten why he hated most angels. Been around the only sane - hah - and decent one too long. Forgotten what dicks they were. “Sweetheart… you remember Mesopotamia, right? Remember how I got you out of some sticky situations. Not to mention how Cas prevented the Apocalypse - twice - don’t you think you owe us a little leeway?”

“Honestly, you cockroach, why should I help you? The way you buttered me up and high-tailed it out of there is certainly no reason for me to _owe you_ **anything**.” The nerve of him even bringing that up. Just who the Hell did he think he was… and why was she still there listening, anyway?

Ah, still bitter then. Damn, he was hoping she would be too up herself to mention it. “I was just doing business, Naomi. And being polite and sociable while I did it. I never backed out on any of our agreements, now, did I? I don’t think you can fault me on that.”

Polite and sociable. Really? “Listen up, Crowley. You find and bring me the angel tablet and I’ll fix your precious Castiel. _Do not_ call for me until you have it and are ready to turn it over to me.” She vanished with a flap of her wings without saying another word.

He harrumphed at her abrupt departure. “Tart,” he mumbled. “Cas does it better by far.”

Still. She wanted the tablet, and he wanted Cas. On the surface it looked like a good exchange, but if what was on it was important enough that Naomi was ready to deal with him again (and no, he was _not_ going to sign an enforceable contract with her, either) then whatever was on the tablet had to be a risk to the Host.

All the more reason to let Castiel fetch the tablet himself, to avoid invalidating his agreement. If Cas found it and had the Prophet translate it, then at least he could try to work out why Naomi wanted it so damned badly.

***

Kevin was sitting cross-legged on the low motel bed, tablet lying on the duvet, pen tapping over the notepad as he wiped the smear of blood from his nose. Better. It was as close to perfect as he was going to get. 

“Wow,” Dean said, sounding unimpressed. “You look like hammered crap.”

The Prophet could only agree. “Yeah.”

“Are you sleeping?” Sam asked.

“Not really.”

“Are you eating?”

Kevin did not appreciate the ping-pong, double-teaming… whatever this was. “Hot dogs, mostly. Or, you know, whatever I can get from the gas station. Ordered pizza a few times but I got too paranoid it was one of _her_ people.”

“Sure, yeah -- breakfast of champions.” Dean looked a little constipated, and Kevin nearly laughed. “Look, I'm gonna feel dirty saying this, but you might want a salad and a shower.”

The older brother sounded like his mom. “I know, so when Mom saw the packaging she got angry and ran out to the store. I think she’s gonna insist she feeds me from now on.” A pause. “And I've been getting bad headaches and nosebleeds, and I think maybe I had a small stroke. But it was worth it.” 

“What was worth it?” Sam asked. 

He was trying so damn hard not to sound smug, but it was difficult to. Even knowing he had strong analytical skills and apparently some gift from God himself… Kevin felt a sense of accomplishment. He was always driven to excel. “I figured out how to close the Gates of Hell,” he announced.

“You--” Dean couldn’t even finish, his look of incredulity melting into a smile as the other two laughed. “Come here, you smelly son of a bitch.” He yanked the younger man to his feet, pulling him in for a brief - brusque - hug. 

A clap of the hands from Sam, dragging them back to the here and now. “Okay, okay. So, what does this mean? What are we looking at?”

“It's a spell,” Kevin explained, happy the brief, slightly awkward moment was over. 

“And?” Dean asked. 

“And it's just a few words of Enochian,” Kevin answered, patiently. “But…” he offered the papers over to the older brother.

“Oh, here we go.” He clearly approved… superficially. Kevin wasn’t sure he still would when he heard the warnings.

“...the spell has to be spoken after you finish each of the three trials.” Better to ease them into it gently.

“T-trials like, uh, like ‘Law & Order’?” Sam took the paper to skim through it.

Trust Sam to turn it into a legal thing. “More like Hercules. The tablet says, ‘Whosoever chooses to undertake these tasks should fear not danger, nor death, nor...’ A word I think means ‘getting your spine ripped out through your mouth for all eternity’...” He still wasn’t happy with that translation. It seemed to be a concept that had no direct equivalent in English, and it wasn’t like he could google the answers.

“Good times,” Dean mused. 

Maybe for the brothers. “Basically, God built a series of tests, and when you've done all three, you can slam the gates.”

“So, what - God wants us to take the SATs?” 

Kevin winced at Sam’s question. Both of them knew what they’d given up for this life, after all. “I-- I guess. Uh, he works in mysterious ways.”

Dean took the paper back, from Sam.“Yeah, mysterious, douche-y ways. All right. Where do we start?” 

“I don’t know yet. I just found the spells, but not the steps. It’s… difficult to crack.”

“Alright, you keep up on it, then - see what you can dig up,” Dean said, glad they were finally getting some traction. “Mrs. Tran will be back soon I’m sure, and I’ll give her a hand with the supplies. Just ‘cause she’s your mom doesn’t mean you should take her for granted, kid. You work yourself too hard and you _know_ she’ll come down hard on your ass, right?”

“Right,” Kevin nodded. 

“What about… Cas?” Sam asked. “Last time we kept secrets from one another…?”

“Yeah, last time he kept secrets from us he ended up letting in the dicks. And went psycho. And vengeful, pillar of salt on us.” Dean shrugged.

“Isn’t it a bit… hypocritical? To expect him to tell us what’s going on, but keep secrets from him?”

“You not think maybe if we tell him we’re planning on locking all the demons in their basement, grounded, that he won’t get pissy with us, Sammy?”

“I’m saying if we manage to go through with it, he’ll be plenty pissy with us then, too.”

“But if it’s too late to reverse it?”

“Wait,” Kevin jumped in. “Even if it’s too late to undo it when Castiel finds out what we did… won’t… I mean. An upset angel? I don’t know much about them, but if there’s anything I picked up on, it’s that they’re - uh - not fluffy halos and sparkling wings.”

“Kevin’s got a point.” Sam nodded gently at him. “Cas will be **really** mad at us. And you saw him… he still isn’t himself.”

“Like that douche is any good for him… Sam, c’mon. Crowley?”

“I don’t like it either, but I’m just playing devil’s advocate.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Yeah.”

Kevin didn’t like the sound of that, either. 

Fortunately, that was when his mom chose to return, her arms filled with bag upon bag of groceries. “You’re taking a break,” she said, without even acknowledging the brothers. “These two will take advantage of your natural dedication to your study. Up and away from that tablet. Legs stretched. Then you can help me prepare dinner.”

The Prophet of the Lord shrugged. “Sorry guys. A higher power compels me.”

“Damn straight I do.”

***

Henry Winchester walked down the street, barely able to conceal the spring in his step as he went. Past the jewellers, past the familiar businesses… stopping at the door that only those who knew to knock, would knock. Etched deep into the door was a symbol recognised by fewer still, but which was marked on the man’s pin. Two-one-three went his knuckles on the wood. The door opened and let him inside.

“Good evening, Sir.”

“Evening,” he replied in kind, and he went deeper in. 

Down the hallway Henry went, until he found Josie waiting. Instead of her usual attire, she was looking far too smart in a fancy evening dress, the light through the stained-glass window dancing over her mutely. Josie stood, reaching to remove Henry’s hat.

He couldn’t help but smile at her. “Josie. No one told me this initiation was a formal affair.”

“Well, someone had to class up the joint, right, Henry?” she replied, soft and fond. Her fingers went next to the pin through his tie, making sure it lay just right. 

“Ain't that the truth?” Because she did. Not just because she was dressed to the nines, but because she was - well - a _she_. First Woman of Letters… or soon.

“The hard part's over, right?” Josie asked. “We made it.”

A man - an adept - wearing a hooded cape opened a door. He addressed Josie first. Henry didn’t know if it was the traditional gender-politics, or if it was simply that her name came first alphabetically. Likely he’d never find out. “Ms. Sands?”

Henry smiled at her encouragingly, inclining his head to the door. Yes. It was time. They had both been working so damned hard at this. She deserved it more even than he did, because he’d had the world handed to him on a silver platter, and she’d fought tooth and claw for every last bit.

Josie went to the door, glancing one last time at Henry. The door shut behind her, sealing off the ritual. He would not have to wait for long, but he was still curious about what it involved. No one would tell him on pain of death… or at least, excommunication.

He slipped off his hat and coat and took her seat, fighting to keep his knees from bouncing in excitement. Suddenly, he could hear a loud screaming, a furious banging, and a raised voice speaking what was unmistakably Latin. Was that part of the initiation ceremony? Was it one last thing to test his resolve? To make sure he was cut out for this? Was it a final test? One he had to pass, and one Josie had already passed… or was doing right now?

Worried, Henry decided he didn’t dare take the risk of waiting. He hurried into the room, shocked to find two of the Men of Letters - still in their capes - dead on the floor in piles of slowly spreading, drying blood. 

In front of Josie was another adept. He was intoning a spell with all the weight he could throw into his voice, and Henry knew, now, this was no drill, no test. “ _Secura tibi facias libertate. Servire, te rogamus, audi nos!_ ”

Another man - Larry? It was hard to tell past his bleeding eyes - spoke to him, urgently. “Henry. Do not let Abaddon get it.” He held up a small wooden box, engraved with the Men of Letters’ symbol.

Josie - Abaddon? - grabbed the chanting man by the throat, interrupting his exorcism. “That's impossible! How?”

The demon Abaddon made Josie’s eyes blink jet black, and with a scream she snapped the adept’s neck. Another blink and the black was gone.

Henry couldn’t stay - he knew if the Men of Letters’ principle members couldn’t exorcise or resist this demon, then he, a lowly initiate, had no chance. Plus… the box. He ran from the room at full pelt. He could hear the demon striding after him, almost imagine the feel of her breath on the back of his neck.

He charged into a room filled with spell ingredients, glass beakers full of powerful items. He locked the door behind him, for all the good it would do. He grabbed them with shaking hands, dropping them into the bowl. 

Down the corridor, he could hear the sound of doors slamming open, and he knew he did not have much time before she found him. Knife. Yes. Knife. He sliced through his own palm, and held it over the bowl of spell ingredients, letting the hot, sticky liquid fall over them. He wasn't even sure why this particular spell came to mind, he just knew he had to be out of here and fast. And far. As far as he could be, to protect this box. He daubed the mixed liquid into a symbol on the door, using his own life-energy in ways he knew were both foolish and completely necessary.

“ _Kah-nee-lah... Poo-goh_ ,” he intoned. The sigil started to glow golden-bright.

Outside, Abaddon was trying the door. It did not want to budge. The demon was not impressed. She was not going to be stopped by little Henry Winchester, of all people. No doubt if Josie could actually see what was happening she would be oh-so proud.

“ _Kah-nee-lah... Poo-goh. Kah-nee-lah... Poo-goh…_ ” The door shook as the sigil was completed. “ _Kah-nee-lah... Poo-goh_!”

Henry fell through the door - now glowing furiously brightly, and staggered out of the closet. He was surprised to see two men, not just his son. One was tall - impossibly tall - and standing before a window. Possible, but not likely. The other seemed more likely, this one shorter, but still tall. 

“Which of you… is John Winchester?” he demanded.

“Which of us - what?”

“Please, time is of the essence!” Henry begged. “Which of you is John Winchester?”

“Uh, neither,” said the tall one.

“That's impossible. That's absolutely... What did I do wrong?” He’d said the words. He’d used his blood. He had no other descendants, and he’d done it right that he could tell. 

“Who the hell are you, mister?” the smaller, gruffer one asked.

“Not now. I'm thinking.” Had he said a word wrong? What was the radius on this? Had he somehow come out on the outskirts of the spell’s effect, or was this simply one room over? Where _was_ this?

Before he could object, the short one had hold him, pushing him into the wall, an arm slung across his chest. Oh for...

“Please. I can assure you there's no need for violence. One of you must know John Winchester,” he pushed.

“I'll tell you what, when one of us falls out of your closet, _then_ you can ask the questions,” Tall said. 

“Yes, my apologies. Is it absolutely essential, Sir, that you keep your hands on me?”

Dean took a step back. and Henry was glad he didn’t have yet another bloodbath on his own to handle now. They seemed capable of listening to instruction, and not really nearly upset enough to find a man in their closet.

“Thank you. Gentlemen, in the absence of any and all other explanations, I'm afraid this has been a marvelous, tragic misunderstanding. I'll be on my way.”

“That's not happening.” Tall again.

“There are things of grave importance. I do not have time to deal with the likes of you.” Rational they might be, Men of Letters they were not. And his son they were also not. He had probably already said too much.

Short fetched some handcuffs from the bag on the table, just as Tall grabbed hold of him. Snap, on they went. 

“You're not going anywhere, 007, till we get some answers.”

Short seemed to be in charge, if the way Tall fell in line was anything to go by. Short tried cuffing him to the chair, but with a smooth move and years of practice, he slipped from their grasp, and then they were bound up instead. A small smile, as he ran out, leaving them to work it out themselves.

“How did he do that? You got to be kidding me!” he heard tall complain.

“Damned if I now.”

“Get me out of these damn cuffs, Sammy. That little dick has some ‘splaining to do.”


	70. Chapter 70

“Now you’ve mastered all the others,” Naomi said, walking side-by-side with Castiel through the empty, sterile, white warehouse that was her training unit, “...it’s time for the final test, Castiel. You do want to be fixed, don’t you? You do want to come back to Heaven?”

The seraph nodded. Of course he wanted to be fixed. The highs and lows were absolutely exhausting. He would very much like to visit Heaven once more as well. Of course, his home now was with Crowley, but he still missed the gardens. 

“Take out your blade,” she told him, smiling encouragingly when he did. “And now… you must execute this monster.”

The monster, of course, was Crowley. Crowley who was frowning at being described as such. “Speak for yourself, Poodle.”

“ _NO_.” The loudness and the depth of the growl that left Castiel’s throat surprised even him. Was she serious? Did she actually expect him to ki-- he couldn’t even _think_ it. “No.”

“He is a demon, Castiel. He is the enemy. You must do this. He led you astray, he is the last tie to the evil within you. You must sever it, in order to heal.”

“You’ve got to be having a laugh,” Crowley groused, arms folded over his chest petulantly. “Cas. Tell the bint she’s insane. I’m the only _good_ thing you still got going. Demon or not. She’s fucking with your head, sweetheart.”

“I will **not**. You’ve gone too far Naomi. I will not do this, I--” The angel looked at Crowley, his eyes studying him carefully. If he was a copy - no, Cas. He _was_ a copy - it was incredibly accurate. It had been difficult to move past the mental block with the others. Meg, Cecily, even the Winchesters, though, he had been able to **see** that it was not actually them. But Crowley… Crowley…

Castiel looked back to Naomi. “I won’t do it.”

“You **will** ,” she insisted, and she tried to exert her will over his, tried to force his hand to move. If it moved often enough under her guidance, eventually it would move alone.

“I don’t think you heard him, Naomi. The angel said ‘no’. You understand that, don’t you? ‘No’? You understand that Castiel is the Little Angel Who Could Rebel, Without Falling?”

Cas fought against Naomi with all his might. “ _NO_.” It was the only word on his lips. 

He lunged at Naomi with every last bit of strength he could muster, trying desperately to shove that blade into her. He would never, ever hurt Crowley intentionally - not even a replica.

Naomi was stronger, and she side-stepped him, blocking his attack. She grabbed hold of Castiel’s wrist. “You will kill him. You will kill him until you stop asking, stop doubting, stop thinking. You were made to obey, Castiel…” She tried to guide his hand around, towards the fake-demon.

“See? He’s not going to do it. You might as well stop trying, skirt. The angel’s mine.”

Nononono. Cas would not… **could not** turn the blade on Crowley. If he couldn’t take out Naomi and she was still insisting he kill something, it would have to be himself. He turned his wrist so the blade was almost touching his stomach. 

“If you want me to kill someone in this room it’s either gonna be me or you,” Castiel spat.

Naomi tried to force his hand, but the more she tried, the more she realised that - right now - she didn’t have the control she needed. She snapped the Crowley-replica away, and then snapped his angel blade gone, too.

“Castiel. You said you wanted to come home.”

“Not if it means killing Crowley.” Never if it meant killing his King.

“He’s a demon, Castiel. A **demon**.” She sighed. “I can see more… invasive methods of persuasion are called for. I will give you one last chance to obey…” and when it was clear it was a ‘no’, she snapped a gurney into being, the seraph bound hard and fast to the tilted surface. “But you won’t say ‘yes’, will you?”

Cas struggled against the restraints, suddenly filled with fear. What was she going to do? Whatever it was, if it involved him being tied down, it certainly could not be good. 

He didn’t even speak a word in response to Naomi, he just narrowed his eyes, jaw set as he still struggled at the bindings. He knew it wouldn’t do any good, but he had to try. He had to.

From a little medical trolley that appeared alongside, she lifted up a bright, metallic tool of sorts. “This is how Meg controlled Samandriel, isn’t it?” she asked, tapping it to his temple. “Well. It’s the same principle, even if the end result is vastly different. You _will_ do as I say,” she insisted, driving the first rod into his brain, finding the softer places where the skull made way. “I will not give up on you, Castiel, though everyone else has.”

Cas screamed out in pain. No. That wasn’t true. Crowley hadn’t given up on him. Crowley _wouldn’t_ give up on him. No… nonono. It was excruciating as she pushed into his skull. 

“I… I won’t. Won’t.” Another cry of pain.

“You will,” she said. “It’s in your Grace, Castiel. You will do as I say.”

She pushed in harder, twisting. “The demon is evil, Castiel. You will kill him. You will kill him, because it is what you are designed to do.”

***

Castiel blinked and it seemed like the scenery had changed, though he knew he had been standing in the King’s Garden in Perth once more. He hadn’t moved. But yet… something felt off. He wasn’t sure what. He felt… overwhelmed… stressed… 

Suddenly he had the strongest urge to make sure Crowley was alright. It was inexplicable and terrifying. A flap of his wings and he stood before the King who seemed fine.

“Crowley!” The angel wrapped his arms around the demon’s neck and breathed him in. “You’re alright. You’re alright!”

“Of course I’m alright, angel! Are _you_ alright?” This certainly couldn’t be good. These mood swings of the angel’s were really starting to become worrisome. Some days he was the timid, broken angel he’d held hands with on the bench in Perth. Other days he was quite reminiscent of when he thought he was God. This was a new emotion - the sheer worry in the angel’s tone, the too-tight hug… not that he minded, of course. Any touch from his angel was one he cherished and committed to his memory. 

Castiel held onto Crowley for much longer than a normal hug. When he was convinced everything was okay, he let go, stepping back slightly and looking at his King. “I just had this terrible feeling that something was wrong…”

Crowley narrowed his eyes a bit, chewing on the inside of his lip. “What were you doing when you got this feeling?”

Cas shook his head. “Nothing… I was just… sitting on our bench in Perth. I blinked and everything felt different. Like you were in danger.”

“Our bench?” Crowley beamed, trying to focus on the angel’s troubles, but damn, that was adorable. “Well, I assure you, kitten, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary has gone on here.” But it wasn’t _here_ that Crowley was worried about. It was there… wherever Cas was when he had these moments involving extreme mood changes. 

Castiel nodded, looking down at the floor. 

Crowley took the angel’s hand in his, his thumb rubbing over the back. “Angel. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

The seraph gave a weak smile. “If anyone can, it’s you, my King.”

“This danger you imagined,” he said, pushing but only carefully. “Any specific things you’re having omens about? Like, should I avoid visiting the forum in March? Or stay away from telegraph poles in storms, or…?”

Cas smirked. “No omens. It was just a feeling. The only dangerous thing I ever want you around is me.” The smirk turned into a grin as gave Crowley’s hand a squeeze.

“It is true, you are eminently dangerous to demons, Castiel. You either burn them out, or set their smoke on fire, you charmer.” He brushed Cas’ hair back from his face. “You need any more reassuring? I could moon you if it would convince you my ass is intact.”

The angel’s head canted to the side, eyes narrowed. “What does the moon have to do with your ass?”

The demon’s grin was shark-feral. “Let me show you the eclipse, Cas…” He undid the belt on his pants, dropping them and pushing his boxer-briefs down just enough to wave his ass in the angel’s face. Thankfully they were here in private again, or else more than Cas might have got an eyefull of demonic behind. “Of course, doing the waxing and waning gibbous is the hardest…”

“Crowley!” the angel laughed, pulling him back up to a standing position. He shook his head, a wide smile on his face. “I love you, demon.”

A wink, a cluck to accompany it, and he pulled his pants back up. “You looked like you needed some astronomy. I know you love stargazing, after all.” He buckled his belt again, and then cocked his head to one side. “Let’s find some way to cheer you up. Convince you that rumours of my demise - again - are greatly exaggerated.” 

Castiel put his hand on Crowley’s just-fastened belt. “I do have something I’ve been a bit curious about…”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten I have a dick, Cas? Because if you’ve been dropped on your head _that_ much, I’m gonna take up praying to your shithead dad.”

“That would be difficult to forget, Crowley. I was kind of curious… you seemed to very much enjoy yourself the other day… when we-- when I… was… aggressive with you. Do you think perhaps you could…”

Crowley’s head cocked to one side, curious. “You know anything you ask, angel. But are you in a pitch, or a catch mood? I’m… persuadable both ways, as you probably guessed…”

Cas narrowed his eyes a little. He figured out what Crowley meant, though he didn’t understand the reference and smiled. “Either way… as long as we’re together, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“But you want something specific, or you wouldn’t ask,” Crowley pushed. “You want to see if you like it like I do, don’t you?” He used just two fingers, rubbing over his cheekbone… then down to the front of his throat. “You want me to… _hurt_ you, so you see how it fries the synapses just as good as sex? See if it edges you higher, and leaves to begging, spent, happy and sore?”

The angel closed his eyes as Crowley’s fingers ran down his throat. Oh, how the demon’s touch _did things_ to him. He nodded, opening his eyes to look into Crowley’s. “Yes.”

“Alright, my precious kitten. I’ll take you to my bed, show _you_ the indoor stars…”

Cas smiled, his stomach feeling all sorts of strange. “Thank you. I would… like that.”

Crowley wrapped a hand around the angel’s tie, yanking until they were pressed together. His amber eyes glinted with amusement. “Now’s the time to tell me anything you don’t want, Cas, because you might be less inclined to object later on.”

Cas thought for a moment… there was no telling what he _didn’t_ want as his only experience was with Crowley. Who knew what else there was… “I… don’t really have very much to go on…” he looked down, away from the demon. “I don’t think I want… your entire hand…” He was slightly - okay, _very_ \- ashamed of himself and bringing up that particular time. “--I’m sorry… I…”

The demon simply snorted. “Fair enough. Though you have to know… that was pretty damn hot. All the worrying parts about your hitchhikers aside. So you want to do that again some time… we can.” He nipped at the angel’s lips. “Just promise me you’ll tell me if you want something to stop. Promise me that, and I’ll promise _you_ I’ll do what I can to blow your precious mind, kitten. So. Ready?”

“I promise I will tell you if I want you to stop. And yes, very ready.”


	71. Chapter 71

They arrived back in their room in a flap of wings and smoke, but Crowley still had his hand twirled up in Cas’ tie. He wound it tighter around his fist, and tugged down until the angel was on eye-level with him. “Think we should start simple, and work up, don’t you agree?” 

Simple like push the knot around his throat tight. _Tight_. And then card his fingers through the angel’s hair… before he wound his fingers in and **tugged** , trying to pull him off balance. “If you relax, this can make you feel incredible, Castiel. _Incredible_.”

Cas nodded, trusting the demon completely. The tightness around his neck, the fingers tugging at his hair as he did, in fact, stumble off balance a bit… it felt good. Really good. “I will do my best to relax, then.”

“On the bed,” Crowley growled. “On the bed, on your back. Hands above your head. Think you can do that for me?”

“Yes.” Cas smiled before he was on the bed as requested in a blink. 

Crowley laughed as the angel blinked out of his grasp, his fingers closing around thin air. Had to be bloody precise, didn’t you? He went over to the foot of the bed, and started to tug the angel’s shoes and socks off. “Are you ticklish anywhere? You haven’t been so far…” a finger brushing lightly over the angel’s sole, before he followed it up with a sharp scratch of blunt nail.

“I don’t think so…” His foot twitched slightly at the touches and the scratch, though.

“Good… tickly is not always fun torture.” The demon moved to kneel on the bed, sitting on the angel’s lap (still fully dressed) and instead untucking his shirt. His fingers stole underneath the fabric, and he scratched deep, pink lines over the faint rise of his hip-bones. “Plenty of other fun things we can do…” like unfasten buttons, spreading fabric out like faltering wings, with the angel lying in the wreckage. He leaned in to rub a slightly stubble-rough cheek (maybe he should shave that off, he’d gotten out of the habit of doing it daily since he’d got back from that damned place) over the angel’s stomach. “You should tell me how it feels, so I know if I’m on the right track, love.”

“It feels… interesting.” He thought for a moment, the scratch of the stubble over his stomach was certainly a new feeling to focus on… “I did enjoy the scratches… perhaps more than the roughness of your cheek.”

“Good to know.” Crowley was trying not to laugh. He was. He moved to the angel’s hip and clamped his teeth down with a growl, not quite breaking skin, but the way he suddenly sucked in hard, it was going to bruise. While his mouth was busy, he finished unfastening the shirt, and all that was left was the top button and tie in the way.

Cas hissed as Crowley bit and sucked at his hip. Yes, good. “I like that… very much.”

Another snort. Well. He did say speak up. He hadn’t specifically told him how to give feedback, so… his cheek scratched up over his chest, his tongue following behind, until he was lapping at one pert little nipple… and finding the other with finger and thumb and _twisting_ as hard as he dared. 

The sharp pain sent a rush to his head that was exhilarating. Perhaps the demon was on to something. “Yes,” he breathed. He felt a little foolish responding every time Crowley did something. “Should I tell you if I like something after everything?” He decided it was best to ask.

“Just tell me if you _really_ like it, or feel you have to,” Crowley suggested, nosing over his chest as he spoke. “Otherwise we could well be here all night. Anything you **really** get a kick out of… even if it’s just ‘Hell, yes’...” 

Like, say, if he pinched both nipples at once as he surged up and clamped his mouth down over the front of Cas’ throat, growling low and possessive, teeth pressing into the tender skin there. Did Cas like that, he wondered?

Castiel echoed the demon’s growl, arching off the bed a bit. “ _Fuck_. Yes… **yes**.” Another growl. No wonder he had Crowley so undone the other day.

It was hard to bite and laugh at once, but Crowley managed it. He let go of Cas’ nipples, but only so he could scratch lines that drew the faintest tramlines of blood through the skin, and then he was up and yanking the seraph’s head back by the hair. “I love you, angel,” he said, voice low and rough with arousal. “Scream louder.” 

He bit straight on his lover’s jaw, leaving pink and white teeth-marks in his wake, and then he was sucking until his ears nearly popped, determined to leave his name all over the angel’s vessel. Next he kissed it better, then tiny, pecking kisses down his throat - to where his neck joined his shoulder… waiting and just breathing hotly.

"Crowley... oh fuck. _Crowley_ , yes!" The angel's voice grew louder with every word.

He was breathing heavily when Crowley's movement ceased, his hot breath sending chills down Cas' spine. "Crowley, please don't stop," the angel begged.

“For you… anything,” he promised, and then slid a hand under his neck, to hold him up and in place. To hold him still as his teeth sunk into the soft, fleshy curve. To press in, to break the skin, to lap his tongue between his teeth, slicking the angel’s neck with his own blood mingled with Crowley’s saliva. He licked and licked, and then lifted his head - mouth red - and narrowed his eyes. “Roll over. On your hands and knees. And give me your wings.”

Cas moaned loudly, grinning like a maniac when he saw the blood - his blood - on Crowley's mouth.

He did as instructed, turning over on his hands and knees and unfurling his wings without question. He could feel the warm liquid still oozing on his neck and the sting was still there, driving him mad with want and _need_.

"Tell me if this gets too much, angel. I don't have wings so it's hard for me to guess."

Crowley placed his hands low on the angel's spine, then ran his fingers up and into the thick canopy of his wings. Just ruffling them the wrong way first, then yanking back down. Hard. Releasing them and smoothing down, then grabbing where they emerged from his shoulders. "Ready?"

Cas shivered as the demon ruffled the feathers that no one else had ever touched. He'd never really thought of letting anyone touch them. Then again, he'd not thought to do a lot of things that he had done with Crowley. He loved all of the other physical things they did, so he was feeling positive about this. 

"Yes, my love."

The demon grabbed those wings and - with his not inconsiderable strength - tugged back as hard as he was able. He bent the angel backwards, his spine arcing under the pressure, and kissed softly between his shoulder blades to counterpoint it. “My angel,” he purred, kissing up to the back of his neck, nudging through the fine hair at his nape. “All mine…” And then he surged up, a little hum, and then his teeth were clamped down over the angel’s neck, as he bit as hard as his jaw would allow.

Oh, fuck. That hurt. It hurt but it felt _so unbelievably good_ at the same time. And once again the King’s teeth were digging into Castiel’s neck and the all but howled his demon’s name. 

“Yes. I’m yours… all yours, my King. Always.”

Crowley slid backwards, his death-grip on the angel’s neck giving way. He slithered down, fingernails scratching wherever they could reach, until he was crouched between the seraph’s thighs. “Now is the time to say ‘no’,” he pointed out, one last rub of cheek to ass, he snapped off the rest of the angel’s clothes. And when there was no ‘no’, he grabbed a mouth full of Castiel’s butt cheek and **bit** , even as he shoved one barely-magicked finger in. He wanted it to sting, to burn, to feel uncomfortable, but not unpleasant.

And sting and burn and feel uncomfortable it did, but Cas found himself pushing back towards Crowley for more. It reminded him a bit of the first time they had… reconnected in Purgatory. Everything hurt, but his demon’s touch made it all better. This had the same sharp, stinging feeling, but it was good. Very good. 

The angel buried his head in his hands and found himself pulling harder than he normally would have at his own hair. His entire body was like it was electrified _and he loved it_. 

One hand low on the angel’s back - fingers just teasing at the very faintest edges of downy feather - and the other fucking one - then two - fingers in. He lapped around the angel’s hole, where it stretched to let them in, and then bit his way down the backs of his thighs. “Good boy, Cas, good boy,” he cooed, kissing better where he left stubble-burn or teeth-marks. “Do you want it harder? Or is that just right?”

Castiel was moaning and so blissed out that he barely heard Crowley’s question. “ **Harder**.” The fierceness in his voice surprised him but he wanted _more_ , he wanted _harder_ , he wanted to **hurt** because he knew that Crowley’s touch would make it better.

Crowley could not refuse the angel anything, not ever. He slipped a third finger in - spreading them out - and fucking him open with all the strength he could put behind his shoulder. Another bite, and then he wrapped his lips around Cas’ balls and bit and sucked there, as hard as he could without ripping bits off that were never meant to be ripped off. He tasted salty and of exertion and lust, and Crowley drank down the stinging taste happily.

The angel hissed loudly, his own teeth sinking into his forearm. His head was spinning and he felt… he felt more than exhilarated. “Crowley… why does it hurt and feel _so good_ at the same time?” he breathed.

A rough swallow, and he lifted up just long enough to drop his head on Cas’ cheek, smiling up at him even if he wasn’t looking back. “Because pain is just intense stimulation, angel. Because it’s just contact. Strong contact. Because your vessel floods with chemicals to keep going in the face of pain… because all sorts of things, Cas, but if you analyse them you run the risk of killing them…” 

A twist, and the demon corckscrewed his fingers inside. “Not to mention… trust. Trusting someone to hurt you, but not harm you. Letting them run their fingers through your aches… powerful stuff, kitten. Powerful indeed…”

Well that made sense. Of course... making the synapses fire on a primal level, the chemicals, literal electricity hopping through his vessel. Beautiful.

Just like Crowley.

Beautiful Crowley. He trusted his King with his life, his Grace. With everything. So much was on the tip of his tongue, so many things he wanted to say about trust and love and beauty, but _damn_ those fingers were driving the angel crazy.

The seraph tried to speak but all that came out was _my King_.

The demon’s fingers curled sharper inside, twisting, trying to pull every last shudder from his lover. He went back to biting, his free hand sliding up and into his feathers. “Fuck yourself on my hand, angel. Ride my fingers like you wish they were my dick. Maybe if you scream loud enough, I’ll scratch my nails over your cock until you come.”

There were so many feelings, Cas was on the good side of overwhelmed. He fucked himself on the demon's fingers as best he could, but it was difficult in this position. The angel whimpered in frustration. "Crowley, please. I need... harder..." He was slamming himself back as hard as he could, but it just wasn't enough.

Harder? Well. If he wanted to. Crowley bent down again, wrapping his lips around Cas’ balls and sucking. Sucking as forcefully as he could, letting his teeth scratch. He slammed his hand into the angel’s ass, over and over and over… and then grabbed hold of his cock, too. Slamming that in counterpoint, so one moment he was surging back onto fingers in him, then Crowley pushed him forwards into the hand around his shaft. He growled, warningly, and abruptly he had all four fingers in. He had no intention of doing any more (Cas had said he didn’t want to) but four? Four was fine. And it would sting just the right side of Heaven, he knew. 

Cas was screaming and growling and clutching at the sheets in his hand. Every curse word he could think of, in every language he knew streamed from his mouth dotted with _Crowley_ and _my King_.

"Please... please, my King. Fuck me, pull me back by my wings, mark me... yours... all yours." The angel didn't even know if he was making sense, he just hoped Crowley knew he wanted his dick before he couldn't hold on any longer.

Crowley smiled to himself. Of course he would do all those things. He gave one last, slow stroke to his cock, let his balls pop out from his mout with a wet, soft noise… and then licked at the angel’s entrance as he pulled his fingers out. “You are mine,” he said, with a voice gruff from lack of use. “All mine.”

He moved into position hurriedly, finding his own cock and pulling it free. The angel was so beautiful like this: on all fours, wings out and trembling, ass presented up proudly… he took a moment to drink in the sight, but then he grabbed his hips and held him still. Held him still so he could thrust shallowly between his legs. Could tease for just half a moment more, before he was pressing against that abused, open hole. Hands that scratched up from his hips and into those wings, using them for leverage. Using them as handles to sink the angel back onto his dick. He held him still - not letting him wriggle, or rock, or rut - perfectly still and split open on his prick. And then - hands still in his wings - he bent at the waist to growl into his ear.

“ _Beg me properly or I won’t fuck you, I’ll leave you open and wanting, my angel…_ ”

Being held still was horrible torture. He wanted to move, to be taken, to be fucked hard into the mattress, to feel Crowley deep inside him where no one else had ever been.

" _Please, Crowley. **Please**_. I need you to fuck me, take me, claim me, whatever you want, just, please... **please**."

Apparently that was enough, because Crowley pulled back on his knees, then with a tug of wings, he impaled the angel all over again. Hard, rough, and just how he needed it. “I’ll claim you alright, kitten. I’ll scratch my name on your hide. I’ll scald you inside, so when you move, you know you’re mine…”

But then talking was too much, so he growled instead, and started to fuck him in earnest. It was intoxicating. The sounds, the feel, the faintest lingering taste of blood still on his lips… damn but he wanted to come, but not until he’d made the angel scream. “ **Your ass is only mine** ,” he snarled. “Your dick. Your lips. Your heart. **Mine**.” To prove it, he bent and bit over the back of his neck once more.

Cas was moaning the entire time as Crowley fucked him hard. It was good, oh, _it was good_. And then the demon bent over and bit his neck and _fuckfuckfuckfuck_. Cas could barely breathe and Crowley was hitting **that** spot… the one that would make him come without anyone touching his aching dick. 

A few more thrusts and Cas couldn’t have stopped himself from crying out the demon’s name as he came so hard it took his breath away even if he _wanted_ to.

Perfect. _Perfect_. The yelling, the sobbing, the broken, hungry way Cas uttered his name as he fell apart beneath him. He felt every last shudder pass through the angel, and he growled muffledly into his throat. He held the angel still by his wings, a few more, forceful slams of his hips and then he cried out _Castiel_ over the angel’s bite-marked throat. 

He lifted from the angel’s messy neck, peppering tiny little ‘I love you’ kisses where his tongue and teeth had been. He lapped the coppery liquid up, smearing it into his lips. “My angel,” he said, and rolled them to one side.

Cas had a blissed out smile on his face… and some sharp pain everywhere the demon had marked him, but it was worth it. _Damn_ , was it worth it. He turned his head to look at Crowley. 

Castiel hummed happily, “My King.”

The demon scooped him up close, cuddling against his back, nosing affectionately at his neck. “That feel good, kitten? That answer your questions about the darker side? And why I like it when you…” brushing his wing curled over the front of his chest, “...do it to me?”

“Yes… very, very good.” Another shiver as Crowley’s fingers brushed over his wing. “I understand why you enjoy it so much. We should definitely do that more often.”

“If you enjoy it, of course we will. But for now… I think I just want to cuddle you. Unless you have any strenuous objections?” He nosed over the drying cuts to his neck. “...do you want me to kiss and heal those better, dear one?”

“I never object to cuddling you, my King.” He let his eyes flutter closed. “Is it strange to want to leave them for a little bit?”

“Not in the slightest. The sting can be nice, after all…” he kissed them anyway, but left them there. “Sometimes I like the marks you leave on my meatsuit. Like a constant reminder of where you’ve been, when you’re gone.”

“I love you, Crowley.” The angel sighed heavily, still feeling the sting from all the places the demon had claimed and smiled.

“I think you might have mentioned that. Oh… a few thousand times. But I’m not going to ban you from saying it all over again.” He grabbed Cas’ hand, pulled it up for kisses. “Best thing to ever happen to me, angel. I mean that.” More little kisses. “If you want to not-sleep here… I’ll hold you?”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, my love.”


	72. Chapter 72

Henry Winchester laughed as the two men finished up their checks. Holy water to the face. Really? He’d have done that sooner, in their situation. But maybe in this new year - 2013 - priorities were a little different. It was still hard for him to get his head around how far he’d jumped. “And there,” he said, “with the holy water.”

“He’s clean,” said Tall.

“I could have told you that.” He tugged his sleeve down, over a laceration on his left arm. 

“Yeah, well, you can start by telling us everything before I beat it out of you,” Short said. His voice was really rather impressively low. Henry worried for his vocal cords. 

“I'm quite certain this is all beyond your understanding, my alpha male monkey friend. And violence will not help you comprehend this any easier,” he told the brute. The posturing was clearly some testosterone-driven madness.

That made the short one angry, and he turned the muzzle of his gun on Henry, grabbing the front of his jacket angrily. “Let me tell you what I understand! Some asshat pops out of my closet asking about my dad, smashes up my ride. So why am I not getting violent, again?”

Wait… “John Winchester is your father?”

Of a sudden, there was a loud, rattling noise, cutting into the moment. Henry wanted to continue the questions, but the noise was worrisome. Worrisome enough to get him to his feet. “What is that? Oh… my God.”

“What?” asked clover-field eyes. 

“Run!”

The closet door burst back open, in a flash of brilliant light. Haloed by the magic was a beautiful red-head… Josie. Or the body was Josie. The mind was not. The mind was the demon, the one whose name Henry had heard in a warning and an instruction, just before he’d left. **Abaddon**. 

“Henry.” Her laugh was musical. It might even once have been attractive. “Silly man, you forgot to lock the door. But then spells never were your best subject, were they? Why don't you be a doll and give me what I want? And I promise to kill you and your friends here quickly.”

“You know I can't do that.”

“You're not a fighter, Henry.”

Maybe not, he thought, maybe he was a Watcher - and not even a full one at that - but he would be damned if he was going to let the demon win. She’d possessed Josie, his closest friend… he wasn’t going to let her just… _get away with it_.

Short lifted his gun, and Abaddon raised her arms, sending the two men flying. Henry struggled to move, but a gesture from the demon and he was stilled against his will.

“Josie,” he begged, hoping she could hear him. They could, sometimes. He’d read that. “I know you're still in there. You must fight this.”

“I'm afraid Josie's indisposed, pet. It looks like it's just you and me.” The demon used her face, used her body to make expressions that seemed almost familiar, but now she was no longer hiding, he could… tell. Or. He thought he could.

The short, gruff one stabbed J-- Abaddon in the back with his knife. She screamed, falling to her knees, and sparkling, golden light flared through the meatsuit. Henry found it horrible to watch, to see his friend in pain, even if it was not ‘her’...

“Ohh! Aah!” she called out, but then the light stopped flashing, and it was if she’d never been stabbed. “Well, that is _no_ way to treat a lady.”

Before she gathered herself, the three men ran from the room at top speed.

***

Practically every alert Cecily had set up went off at the exact same time. There was a spike - a mighty big one - in supernatural activity. Something old… and for a moment, Cecily feared the Leviathans might be back. The activity was concentrated in one place though, able to be pinpointed easily.

Naturally, that 1967 Impala was _right there_ where the spike occurred. Whatever it was, she couldn’t hack into Sam’s laptop so no audio or visual there. They were in a hotel room… and then, then Impala was headed the Hell out of there - and **fast**.

_Shit_.

She picked up the phone and called the King of Hell immediately. This was totes something he’d need to know about.

***

Henry stared down at the photograph. He was in it, holding a baseball… and there, under his arm, was his little boy John - clutching his bat. John. His John. At least he knew, now, that his son survived… at least long enough to sire children of his own. The two others were at the counter, giving him space. He was grateful for that. It was a lot to take in. They were probably ordering food or something. Henry wasn’t even sure if the currency he carried would still be legal tender.

Sam didn’t know what to say. He didn’t. He leaned against the counter, shaking his head slowly. “Driver's license says he's ‘Henry Winchester’ from Normal, Illinois. He knows Dad's birthday, the exact place where he was born. Dude, that's our grandfather.”

“I'm just saying before we break out the warm and toasties, let's not forget that, uh, H.G. Wells over there left Dad high and dry when he was a kid,” Dean pointed out. They both knew the story, after all. John hadn’t told it often, but they’d both remembered.

“But maybe he didn't run out on Dad – I mean, not on purpose. Maybe he time-traveled here and, I don't know, got stuck,” Sam suggested.

“Yeah, well, either way, Dad hated the son of a bitch.”

“And Dad made up for that how? By being father of the year?”

Their waitress set down trays of food in front of them. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, but he was barely paying attention. “Look, Dad had his issues, okay, but he was always there for us. I freaking hate time-travel, man.”

“You think maybe we should call for backup on this one?”

“What, from the crazy angel? I dunno man. He got Kevin out for us, I’ll give him that, but he’s still sort of… you know. Not all there.”

“Yeah, and I kind of feel responsible for that.”

“What? No! He was the one broke your wall down, Sam. Him. Not you. And all that bull before with Dick? Yeah. Him. And his boyfriend King of Hell.”

“Cas thought he was doing the right thing. He wanted to save people. Like we’ve never fucked something up with good intentions?” Sam couldn’t help but remember the whole ‘Lucifer on Earth’ thing was the result of one of _his_ good intentions. “Whatever that thing was, we’re maybe gonna need his help to bring it down.”

“You think he’ll be for icing her, when he wouldn’t even smoke Meg? He’s gone soft, Sam. Crowley’s got him wrapped around his little f--”

Castiel frowned. “That is incorrect, Dean. I am not a ‘demon sympathiser’. Not… all demons. But you are being very reductive in your assessment of them.”

“Dude. What have we said about spying on people?”

A flash in Cas’ eyes, but then his head lowered. “You said that spies do it. But if you call my name, you do know I can hear you? It is not ‘spying’. It is… unavoidable.”

“...so you hear everything we say when we call your name?” Sam asked.

“...most of it, but not all.”

“R-iight. That’s not in any way facebook stalkery, Cas,” Dean said, cringing. “Uhm. Whatever. You hear what we all said?”

The angel nodded. “You are concerned about the creature, and about your grandfather.”

“See. Told you,” Sam chirped up.

“What are you, man, five?” Dean shook his head. “Whatever. Mr Runaway is here, and some redheaded bitch who can’t be ganked with a knife.”

“Perhaps we should speak to your ancestor, Dean. If they both came through, then it is likely he will have more information.”

Dean rolled his eyes, then hoiked his tray. “Let’s see what he’s got to say.”

Sam and Dean slid into the booth opposite Henry, and Cas moved to sit along side him.

“...who is this?”

“Uh, this is Cas,” Dean said, with a vague wave. “Castiel. He’s a friend.”

“That is a… strange name.”

“I am an angel,” Castiel explained.

“...an angel,” Henry repeated.

“Yes.”

There was a long moment when Cas and Henry stared at one another, neither one of them seeming uncomfortable, and then Henry shrugged. 

“Well. I guess it’s not every day a man meets his grandsons, and an angel?” He held out his hand - first to Sam. “Henry Winchester. It’s a pleasure.”

“Sam.”

“Hello, Sam.”

Henry offered his hand next to Dean, but Dean picked up a basket of fries from Sam’s tray and pushed them in front of his grandfather. “Dinner,” he explained, in case he didn’t realise. What did they eat in the past, anyway? Did they do hot wings and fries?

“This is Dean,” Sam explained.

“Dean is very fond of food,” Castiel tried to excuse him. “He uses it as a comfort, but also as a bonding mechanism. You should be flattered. He may also offer you pie or beer.”

“Right.” Henry did not look convinced.

The elder brother shot Cas a glare, then looked back at Henry. "Well, this has been touching. How about we figure out how to clean up your mess, huh?”

“Abaddon.” Who looked like Josie. “Yes. She must be stopped.”

“How come she didn't die when I stabbed her?” Dean asked.

“Because demons can't be killed by run-of-the-mill cutlery. At the very least, you'd need an ancient demon-killing knife of the Kurds.” He explained this as you would to a small child. Well. They were his grandchildren, after all.

Unfazed, Dean pulled the knife out a little way, flashing it without being too obvious considering their location. “That's what this is.”

“Where'd you get that?”

The knife went abruptly back away. “Demon gave it to me. We've been around this block so many times,” he said, eyes sliding over to Cas. “Sometimes they feel almost like family, huh Cas?”

“This does not seem to be the appropriate time to discuss that, Dean,” Castiel said, his expression stony.

Sam didn’t want yet another fight, so he pushed ahead with the discussion. “Now, that portal or whatever it was you came through – is it still open?”

“I highly doubt it,” Henry frowned. “Why?”

“I'm just thinking if we can't kill this Abaddon--” Sam started.

“--maybe we can shove her back where she came from,” Dean finished. “How did you do it?”

“It's a blood sigil. Blood leads to blood. Or their next of kin,” Henry explained.

“That is powerful magic,” Cas said, with a sage little nod. “You must be experienced in witchcraft.”

Henry narrowed his eyes at the ‘witch’ insinuation, but he decided to let it slide for now.

Sam sucked on his lip, trying to think this through. “But Abaddon came through it, also, right? So can you create this blood sigil again?”

“My blood, an angel feather…” he nodded at Cas, “...tears of a dragon, a pinch of the sands of time – I – I would need those and... at least a week for my soul to recharge, but, yes, it's possible.”

“You tapped the power of your soul to get here? I thought only angels could do that.” Sam looked from Henry to Cas and back again.

Cas winced. “You know that demons use souls as well, Sam. It is only logical that a being with enough knowledge could manipulate them, though few humans could do so with any soul but their own and survive.” He didn’t like remembering his last foray into souls, though. 

The time-traveller looked from one to the other in confusion. “You should know this. What level are you two?”

“What level?” Dean echoed.

“Level of knowledge. You're Men of Letters, correct?”

The brothers exchanged looks, but it was clear they were drawing blanks. Dean spoke first. “I'm a little rusty on my boy bands. Men of what?”

“Men of Letters,” he repeated. “Like your father, who taught you our ways.”

“Our father taught us how to be Hunters,” Sam countered.

Henry laughed brokenly. “You're not. Are you? Hunters? Well, Hunters are... Hunters are apes. You're supposed to – you're legacies…”

“Legacies of what?” Dean said, not liking the implication.

“Men of Letters were also apes,” Cas pointed out, “there is functionally little different between great primates and humans, you know.”

“Thanks for that vote of confidence, Cas.” Dean rolled his eyes. “And I don’t know what the Hell Sesame Street stuff you’re all about, _Henry_ , but where we come from? Hunters do a pretty good job of protecting people.”

“Protecting… but Hunters just _kill_! It’s barbaric!”

“Sometimes they do not kill, but I agree, it is usually their methodology.” Cas nodded in sympathy. 

“You know, I sometimes wonder if you actually consider yourself our friend or not, Cas.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Sam cleared his throat. “...can we, uh, maybe get back on the topic of Abaddon? I mean… the Hell is she, if the demon knife won’t kill her?” 

Cas’ eyes went distant for a moment, as he dredged up a memory. “She is… I believe… a Knight.”

“Knight as in, what?” Dean asked.

“Knights of Hell are hand-picked by Lucifer himself. They are of the first-fallen, first-born demons,” Henry said, recalling from some long-forgotten book. “Legend has it that archangels had killed all of them, which, as we have witnessed, is not the case.”

“No… evidently,” Cas agreed. 

“So, what? Cas, you know something you’re not telling us?”

“I… I do not… recall.” He felt like maybe he should, but it was… missing. Strange. “I am sorry. I do not know any more. Though you must ensure the Prophet is kept safe from her.”

“Yeah, his mom won’t let anyone touch him, Cas, believe me. Damn but that woman would make a killer Hunter.” Dean couldn’t help but admire the easy way she’d taken all this crap in her stride.

“Is there… someone you could ask about Abaddon?” Sam suggested to Cas.

“You mean Crowley.” Cas pressed his lips together. “I can ask him.” The angel vanished.

Henry startled in his seat. “Whoa…?”

“Oh, he’s always doing that.” Dean waved it off, stealing one of the fries from Henry’s basket. “He’s off to see his boyfriend. You know. King of Hell.”

“Lucifer?”

Dean snorted. “Dude, you are _so_ behind. That was years ago now.”

“I apologise. I _have_ come straight from before you were even born. Perhaps you could fill me in?”

“Where do we start?” Sam asked. “Alright… probably should start when I was a kid…”


	73. Chapter 73

Castiel wasn’t sure what - if anything - Crowley could do about a Knight of Hell, but it was certainly worth a shot. He was, after all, the most knowledgeable on the subject of… well… Hellish things. He found the demon in his office, thumbing through papers on his desk. 

“Hello, my love.” Castiel smiled at the King, even as he fiddled with the belt of his overcoat.

“Sweetheart, love of my life… come in.” The demon tilted his head to one side. “Although I get the feeling this is as much business as it is pleasure?”

Cas blipped over to kiss Crowley before he flew over to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk. “What do you know about… the Knights of Hell?”

“...sort of an extinct species now, you know. Last one killed by - so the stories go - the archangels. But I bet you asking isn’t on the back of some Hunter’s Bar Room Quiz, is it?” He leaned over his steepled hands. “Is that what Cecily picked up on? That what those little plaid-wrapped monsters have gotten themselves stuck into now?”

“It seems that Abaddon was not killed. And she’s here now. Well… not _here_ obviously…”

“Abaddon, eh? Interesting. And… let me guess… they came running to you for help?” He clucked at his teeth. “Maybe she’ll see reason. If her King attempts to talk it into her. Can’t say I’m looking forward to the family reunion, but there you go…”

Cas hung his head. Of course the Winchesters came to him - they needed help. It was really the only time that it the angel’s presence was demanded. “I’ve heard tales of the Knights, Crowley. Be careful. They were Lucifer’s…” he struggled to find the right word: pets? Creation? Monsters? “They were Lucifer’s. I’m certain she won’t be happy that you are the King and he is not.”

“...not the first bitch to prefer cold-toes to me,” Crowley said with an expansive shrug. “But I’ll take your concern to heart. You know me… I’m not going to get myself killed just for a pair of lumberjacks, am I?” 

The demon narrowed his eyes. “That the only thing worrying you? Or was your young human charge being his usual, charming self?”

“You know how they can be. It is troubling, Crowley. A Knight of Hell? You aren’t worried at all?”

“Course I’m worried, Cas. But part of being the King is putting a brave face on it.” A shrug. “How did they even find her?”

"It's more a case of _she_ found _them_. Apparently she time traveled along with Henry Winchester from the 1950s."

“Another Winchester? Interesting… I am assuming they’re not all besties?”

"Henry is their grandfather. It was... _awkward_."

"Well when have the Brady Bunch ever been the model family? Alright. I'll do what I can. Half because it's _you_ asking, but also because she's probably going to cause trouble for me. There anything else worrying you, my lovely?"

Cas pressed his lips together as he shook his head. "Just that. Has your day been acceptable?"

“Reasonably, but it’s improved drastically by seeing you.” He pushed up from his desk, and walked around to slip an arm around the angel’s waist. “Much as I’d love to take the rest of the night off with you, you think maybe we should tag-team the chesspiece?”

Castiel smiled as Crowley’s arms moved around his waist. “It would probably be beneficial for us both to go.”

“Let’s see if Cecily can tell us where she’s at…”

***

Abaddon made her way back to what apparently _used to be_ the Men of Letters Initiation Centre. There was a young woman leaning over the counter, busying herself with her duties. The Knight looked around the room, taking in the strange decor. She smirked as she spoke. “Love what you've done with the place.”

The woman turned around, eyeing the Knight for a moment. “Uh, wrong night. ‘Carrie’ screening's on Sunday. I dig your costume, though.”

Abaddon looked down at her dress as the young woman spoke before raising her eyes once more. She took a step closer, gently placing her hand on the side of the clerk’s neck. 

“What are you doing?”

Abaddon ignored the question, breathing just a touch of her black smoke into the woman’s mouth. “Show me what you've seen.”

The woman’s eyes turned a dark, smoky grey as Abaddon invaded her memories.

Henry was there with two other men, talking about Albert Magnus and other names from their stupid little club. There was also an obituary for Larry Ganem showing where he was buried. _Perfect_. She was one step behind them, but she’d catch up to them sooner or later - preferably sooner.

With a breath in, her smoke left the woman and returned to her. The woman looked terrified - which was one of Abaddon’s favourite expressions to see. She looked the woman over once more and smiled. On her shirt was a little pinup woman with devil horns and a tail with the inscription _’The devil made me do it’_ underneath. “I like your top…”

***

“Well, here goes nothing…” Crowley dropped the match, completing the summoning spell. He’d put a demon trap down (well, Cas had) because although he wanted to try diplomacy first, he was no fool. And if Abaddon wanted to kill the Winchesters enough then… well. A polite chinwag wouldn’t be on the cards.

Abaddon was _not_ happy about the sudden change of scenery. She lunged towards Crowley and Castiel but was stopped by the trap. She let out a high pitched scream, exploding the lights in the room. 

“What the Hell is going on here, Crowley?” she spat, fists clenched.

"Hello, Abbie. Long time no see. Thought you were dead, you know. When you went on your sabbatical… turns out you just put life on fast-forwards. Hope you don't mind me calling you in for a little chat. Now I'm King and all..."

Abaddon's laugh was loud and exaggerated as she threw her head back. When the angel cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at her and Crowley had nothing else to say, her smile faded. "You're serious? _You're_ the King of Hell? Quite a step up from the lowly Crossroads. Ever think it was a bit too far out of your reach, sweetheart?"

“Well… it wasn’t out of my reach, was it? Here I am.” He brushed his fine suit down fastidiously. “Now I’ve called you here for a little parley. Understand you’re on the trail of some displaced Sod of Letters?”

“What I’m up to is none of your concern.”

“Now… I’m not sure what sort of gig you had with Lucy Liu, but things under me are different, _sweetie_. And there’s a few rules we abide by. One of them is listening when the King speaks. Now… I know you had a cushy time of it before, and I’m prepared to be considerate and flexible… but I’m going to need you to lay off those Winchesters, understood?”

Another laugh. “You’re kidding, right? You’re no King, Crowley. What with your little angel… pet,” she glanced at Castiel, “or whatever he is… you’re a _salesman_. You’re not my King and you **never** will be.”

“I’m no one’s _pet_ , Abaddon. We’ve come to ask you in a civil manner--” But the angel was interrupted.

“Sure you have. That’s why I’m in a trap, isn’t it? So very civilised.” The Knight shook her head, eyeing Crowley. “Lucifer would never allow such a disgrace to rule in his absence.”

“Yes, well, old Pink Wings went and got himself locked up in the Cage again, you know. You’d have thought once was enough, no? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, no Apocalypse for you… whether you like it or not, I’m the one calling the shots. Now… I could leave you here, if I had to, but I’d rather we were all friends. We can do that, can’t we? Honour amongst demons… well. And angel.”

“Why the Hell would I wanna be friends with the likes of you? You might be the King for now, but your reign is over. Long live the Queen.” She smirked as the ground started to shake beneath them, the trap cracking. 

Abaddon had her hand around Crowley’s throat in a blink, her other hand waved, throwing Castiel across the room. “I will choke the smoke right out of you, you pitiful excuse for a King.”

Cas hit the far wall with a thud. _No_. He was back up in no time, his wings extended and blue Heaven flaring in his eyes. “Let him go.” 

The King was not expecting her to get out of that - not that easily, certainly - and as such she took him by surprise. But what took him more by surprise was the heat he could feel in her hand… that didn’t seem to be doing anything. Surely she had to know an angel was dangerous? Why was she stalling? Was she doing it for effect? He clawed at her grip on him, infinitely grateful that his boyfriend happened to be one of the most badass angels still kicking.

_Why isn’t this working_? Abaddon narrowed her eyes at Crowley. She had done this before, many times. She was supposed to be able to exorcise a demon like this - to send them back to a part of Hell they couldn’t easily escape. But nothing was happening…

Nothing except the angel putting on a show over there. Abaddon let out another scream of frustration, flinging Crowley to the ground **hard**. What the Hell was he? Surely if he was a demon, that would’ve worked.

“You two listen to me. You have not seen the last of me, and I will not rest until I’ve taken the throne from you and your little boy toy angel.” Abaddon looked once more between the demon and the angel - whose presence was still just as baffling as why she hadn’t been able to exorcise Crowley - and she was gone.

Crowley was shaken, and it showed. “...well that went well. Maybe we should warn Dumb and Dumber that she’s hellbent on killing them…”

Castiel was by Crowley’s side immediately, pulling him in for a hug. “I told you I had a bad feeling about her. And yes… we probably should. We should also set them to work a little harder on finding how to get rid of her…”


	74. Chapter 74

At the table, Sam was leafing through his father’s journal, trying to find some hint for how to kill a Knight of Hell. Unsurprisingly, there was not much about them. Beside him, Dean was using the laptop to do the same.

From the couch came a low whistle, trilling through the runs of an old, familiar song. 

Dean looked up from the computer screen at Henry. “What is that? I know that tune.” He’d heard it before, probably a lot… just couldn’t quite place it.

Henry looked over to his grandson. “...’As Time Goes By’. I hope so. It's from ‘Casablanca’.”

“Right.” Sam recognised it, now. “Dad used to whistle it from time to time.”

“Your father saw ‘Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy’ at the drive-in one night. It scared the beeswax out of him. So I got him this little music box that played that song to help him sleep at night. It worked like a charm.” He remembered that fondly. He’d felt so bad about upsetting him, but little John had insisted he’d be fine.

“Wow, it's hard to believe Dad was ever scared of anything…” The younger brother wondered what else they didn’t know about their dad.

Dean shrugged off the conversation. It was difficult to tolerate Henry’s presence. His own father had spoken so poorly about him, Dean really didn’t even want to look at him. He was more than happy to change the conversation when he stumbled upon something worth sharing. 

“Hey, uh, according to county records, Tom Carey lives in Lebanon, Kansas, and is a very happy 127-year-old.” Dean closed the laptop. That was enough for the day. “I say we get some shut-eye, head over first thing in the morning.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Sam sat up straight. “Listen to this. According to Dad's journal, he once tortured a demon that said he made his bones working for Abaddon… so maybe if we track down that demon?”  
.  
“You say that,” Henry gestured to the little book, “belonged to your father?”

“Yeah.”

“May I?”

Sam pushed the journal over the table. “It's a Hunter's journal. I assume Men of Letters – you use journals, too?”

“I intended to,” Henry agreed. “I sent away for one the day before my initiation.” He pushed through the sheets, finding a photograph pressed to the cover. It did look familiar. He put a finger under the stiff paper, lifting it to reveal the embossed ‘HW’. “As a matter of fact, judging by my initials here, this one, I believe.”

It sort of… hurt. To know this had become John’s, not his own. To know his own legacy to his son had been blank pages and the shadowed impression of his name.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “That was _yours_?”

“It must have arrived after... I'm beginning to gather I don't make it back from this time, do I?” He couldn’t. Why else would Dean be so aggressive with him? Why else would they not know about him? Would John have become a Hunter, using this book?

“We don't know for sure. All we do know is that Dad never saw you again,” Sam said, trying to sound reassuring, when it sounded nothing of the sort.

“What did he think happened to me?” Henry almost didn’t want to ask. He didn’t think he’d like the answer, but… he had to know.

“He thought you ran out on him.” Dean’s tone was short as he looked at his grandfather skeptically.

“John was a legacy. I was supposed to teach him the ways of the Letters.” Not become a Hunter. It was… it was all his fault, wasn’t it?

Dean was sick of talking to him, sick of hearing about this sob story that Henry was spinning. He left. End of story. Dean was bitter and he made no attempt to hide it in his voice. “Well, he learned things a little differently.” 

“How?”

“The hard way. Surviving a lonely childhood, a stinking war... only to get married and have his wife taken by a demon... and later killed by one himself. That man got a bum rap around every turn. But you know what? He kept going. And in the end, he did a Hell of a lot more good than he did bad.” 

“I'm sorry.” What else could he say? He had never meant this to happen, he’d meant to jump to see John, not… this. “I wish I had been there for him.”

“Yeah, it's a little late for that now, don't you think?” Dean shot up out of his chair and made for the door. Enough of this bullshit. 

“It's the price we pay for upholding great responsibility. We know that,” Henry argued.

Dean turned back around, raising his voice. “Your responsibility was to your _family_ , not some glorified book club!”

As Dean opened the door, he was greeted with Crowley’s raised hand - ready to open the door by the handle - which he then lifted in a little finger-dance wave. “Hello boys.”

“...I was a legacy. I had no choice,” Henry said, feeling uncomfortable that now there were more people to witness this… disagreement.

“You have **got** to be kidding me,” Dean yelled, seeing Crowley and Castiel at the door. He was ready to ignore Henry’s comment about some bullshit legacy, but he just couldn’t hold his tongue. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

Dean pushed past the angel and demon. Whatever the Hell they wanted, Sam could deal with. 

“Yes, well, love you too, Dean,” Crowley said, head turning to watch as the elder brother stormed off. “It’s okay. I won’t take it personally.”

“...now is really not a good time, Crowley,” Sam said with a sigh.

Cas looked at the demon, his eyes telling him he must follow Dean. Crowley gave an understanding glance - clearly fighting a roll of his amber eyes - and Castiel was gone with a silent flap of his wings.

“...so what’s the cause of the latest family feud?” Crowley asked, walking into the motel room. “And is this the infamous McFly? Have to say, if Dean manages the Grandfather paradox, I’ll be impressed.”

“...you are the demon they spoke of?” Henry asked, deflecting the strange speech. “Why are you here?”

“Well, see, the angel has taken a shining to your progeny. Something about a ‘profound bond’ after saving him from Hell, and then there’s the whole teaching him to rebel thing, which I have to thank them for--” a nod to Sam. “Basically, I want Cas happy. And also, I don’t want pretenders to my hard-won throne. And Abaddon?”

“You know her?” Sam asked.

“Sam, what do you take me for? A shrinking wallflower? She was still around in the blink of an eye to a demon, really. Of course I know her. And surprise, surprise… still a bitch as ever.”

“What is… what is in this for you?” Henry pushed. 

“Told you: Happy angel. Happy angel is happy King. Have you ever even _spoken_ to a demon before? My god… you haven’t.” Crowley laughed. “No wonder your type went extinct. Look, Doctor Jones Senior, we’re not all that different from humans.” He pulled a chair out, and sat at Dean’s laptop, then spotted the journal. He reached for it, but Sam swatted at his hands. “We have needs, you know. Demons are people, too.”

“Just ‘cause you’ve agreed to help us, doesn’t mean you get to see everything, Crowley.”

“Fair dos, if you want to hobble the horse before it’s even left the gate…”

“Did you find anything out, or not?” Henry pushed in. “Or did you come to… gloat?”

“God no! Any gloating you see is simply an optional extra.” Crowley started to browse Dean’s laptop, until Sam pulled that away, too. “ _Fine_... We called her down for a little chinwag, and she was… less than polite. Stopped just short of trying to burn me straight out of my meatsuit, if you must ask. Wasn’t interested in any kind of compromise. And no… I haven’t worked out how we kill her, yet, but I’m working on it.”

“...thanks,” Sam said, looking a little startled. It was probably the truth. He could always ask Cas… he thought Cas would only tell the truth this time around, but then he’d never expected the last change of personality. Or the one before.

“There _is_ something I could ask, in return for my co-operation with this, and the continued embargo on demonic interference in your lives.”

“There is always a catch, with demons,” Henry sighed. “No Winchester will make a deal with one of your ilk.”

“...might want to make sure your brood know your house rules before you go mouthing off, Old Spice.”

Henry frowned, and looked to Sam. Sam shrugged. It was complicated, after all. 

“What is it you want, Crowley?” the younger Winchester asked.

“Simple. I want you to keep that demon tablet safe from interfering hands. And I want you to not connive behind my back. We’re capable of working together, I’m sure of it. And no… not a deal. A gentleman’s agreement. Which you should know, I honour.”

“You’re not seriously considering this?” Henry asked.

“What choice do we have? Without his help, Abaddon might take over everything. And, dunno about you, but ‘hand picked by Lucifer’ and all that sounds pretty nasty. I’d rather not make a deal with the Devil, but if he’s our only choice against her?”

“Knew the Moose was capable of rational thought!” Crowley cooed. “This really could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

***

Castiel was seated in the passenger seat before Dean made it into the driver’s seat. The Hunter sat down, looking to his right with a huff. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Cas.”

“Dean… he _is_ your grandfather…”

“Yeah, and the same dude who disappeared outta my dad’s life, never to return.”

“What if he got stuck here in this time… or he doesn’t make it back? It does not mean he intentionally left just to abandon your father.”

Dean glanced sideways at Cas. “So? Point is: he left. Dad was all on his own. And it turns out he just left to hide some stupid key from a stupid demon.”

“Abaddon is not a stupid demon, Dean. She’s actually quite powerful…” 

“Dude. Demons _are_ stupid. Knight or not. And he thinks his stupid, book-reading geek club is better than people who actually, you know, _do shit_?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, but he let Dean’s comment on demons go. “Dean you have to understand, he’s from a very different time. Many things have changed; you cannot begin to fathom _how much_ humanity changes from generation to generation. His views on ‘book-reading geek clubs,’...” air quotes for emphasis, “and people who ‘do shit’ are much different from yours because things were much different for his generation.”

“Dude, he looks at us like we’re… like we’re _scum_. I mean, I get not everyone’s gonna understand what we’ve done for the world, but when your own family don’t?” Dean sighed, slumping back into the car seat. “I guess I just expected… I dunno. I never really thought about him. He was never around to think about.”

Castiel sighed, looking out the window for a moment in silence once Dean had stopped talking. "It is harder for older generations to change their behaviours. They aren't as... free willed or easily accepting of change. It was hard for me, too... when I rebelled. I went against everything I've ever known. I have spent thousands of years accepting fate, orders... the role I was 'destined' to play. But you taught me that it doesn't have to be that way. That you can change, grow. Perhaps your grandfather needs you to show _him_ the same thing?"

Dean shrugged. “Maybe. I guess. It’s just… I spent all my childhood hating him for what he did to Dad, and now… now he turns up and it’s like he never realised he did anything wrong to begin with, you know? I almost don’t want to.” He felt… bad for admitting that, and he looked up to see what Cas’ reaction was. “It would… have been better if it was anyone _but_ him in our closet.”

Castiel gave Dean an understanding smile. "I know it's difficult to change your views. Believe me, I understand the guilt that follows for that change first hand, but it's also freeing, Dean. Perhaps if you allow yourself to feel differently... to give your grandfather a chance, to try and help him... perhaps it will free you, too."

“Yeah. Well. Maybe. That’s if he’s even prepared to consider taking advice from a Hunter like me.” He rolled his eyes, but then offered a thin-lipped smile. “But… yeah. Thanks, man.”

"You are welcome, Dean... Hopefully Sam and Crowley were able to convince him to be a little more open minded."

“...can I ask a… personal question, Cas?”

"Of course, Dean."

“...why Crowley? I mean. I get that he had the juice to help you. But…” A shrug. “I just… I don’t get the two of you. It don’t make sense to me. And I guess I just need to know it’s actually a good thing, and that I shouldn’t just gank him to save you.”

"Crowley is... different. I initially listened to him for the wrong reasons: I was prideful, blinded by my pursuit of power. I was ashamed of working with a demon, of my choices... but the more time I spent with Crowley, the more I saw he's so very different. He's... he's _good_ underneath. Of course he doesn't always do good things, but neither do I, and neither do you, Dean."

Cas looked out the window once more as he spoke. "Crowley and I were made for one another. A bad angel and good demon..." a little smile, "... even the creatures in Purgatory saw it... perhaps you noticed, too," he said looking back at the Hunter. 

"Our 'glow' was apparently very similar... I do not want you to doubt Crowley, Dean. He makes me very, very happy and I love him more than I have ever loved anything. I have frequently doubted myself and my actions, but I do not doubt that I wish to remain by Crowley's side for eternity, nor do I doubt his feelings for me. I would do anything for him, just as he would do anything for me. So please, do not ‘gank’ him." Because I will end you.

“You know… I still can’t help the feeling that it’s somehow a really freaking bad idea, but… I guess it’s your decision to make.” Dean rubbed his thumb against his temple. “If it keeps him off our case and on our side… I guess I’ll let it slide. But I’ll be watching to make sure he ain’t using you, Cas. You might be an angel, but you gotta admit that hasn’t given you the best of people skills.”

“I can assure you, Dean, he is not using me. But I know that you will believe what you want to believe. Even if my ‘people skills’ aren’t the best, I still know that I love Crowley and he loves me.”

“Yeah, I get that. Okay. Sure. I don’t gotta like him, but… I’ll try to stop getting on your case so much. That sound fair?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, thank you. I would appreciate that.”

“Well. We… gonna go for supplies, or sit and talk about our feelings some more?”

“It would probably be more helpful, at the moment, to go for supplies, but if you have more to say, we can keep talking.”

“...dude, I can’t tell if you’re a dick or just an idiot at times.” Dean was smiling though, and he started up the ignition. “I need pie.”

Cas frowned. “Is pie necessary to defeating Abaddon?”

“If you want me to be properly functional, yeah, it is.” He put the car into reverse, and started backing out of the space. “You really don’t get people, do you, Cas? Even now.”

The angel sighed, shaking his head. “Humanity is… _difficult_ to understand…”

“Not really. We need to eat, drink, sleep. And we like to - well you already know _that_ because you do it too. We like to be appreciated, and we like good music. It ain’t really that hard to understand, Cas. Sometimes I think you just like to be… you.”

The seraph narrowed his eyes in thought, looking out the window. “Perhaps I do…”


	75. Chapter 75

“Now we know what he meant by ‘fix everything’...” Dean said, going back into their motel room.

“What?”

“He broke into the trunk, stole an angel feather. I'm guessing he's gonna whip up another one of those blood spells and Marty McFly himself back to the 1950s.”

“To do what? Stop Abaddon before she strikes?”

“Or grab Dad and haul ass. Look, point is he's doing it.”

“How? He still needs two ingredients for the spell. Unless... unless there's some place nearby that sells real hoodoo.” Sam flipped his laptop open, ready start searching.

“I'll call Garth,” Dean said, pulling out his phone.

“I am sorry that my feather was used,” Castiel said, appearing between them. “I feel in part responsible for how easy it was for him to obtain.”

“...hey, Cas,” Sam said. “Not your fault, man.”

“You must prevent him from altering the timeline. It does not end well. You both recall what happened the last time.”

“Yeah, ‘My Heart Won’t Go On’... dude, that was whacked, you know? Your brother is seriously soft in the head, Cas,” Dean said, with a headshake. “Although I agree the film was a bit much.”

“I have never seen it, but I am more worried about the fate of the world if we change things. It is possible the Apocalypse could then come to pass. There are too many variables. Also, Atropos was not pleased with me last time things changed.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t want him to fuck things up either, Cas. So if you wanna give me a hand?” Dean canted his head, curious. This was a bit more like the real Cas.

Sam opened up the police scanner app, just in case. “ _I repeat: possible homicide at Astro Comics. Location…_ ”

“Hey.” Sam looked up from his laptop.

“Hmm?”

“It just hit the wires – one dead at Astro Comics.”

Dean went to peer over his brother’s shoulder. “Abaddon?”

“Yeah, has to be.”

“It would seem so, because I know that you were there,” Cas agreed. “I am keeping an eye on you. To ensure your safety. As much as I can.”

“...nice, but creepy, Cas.”

“You are welcome, Dean.”

“Okay, so she's close. Me and Cas will go find Henry. You find Larry. Figure out how to kill this chick.”

“Crowley is also trying to work on that. I believe he is looking into the demon your father once encountered.”

“...sweet.” Dean didn’t sound like he meant that, though.

***

“ _Poo-goh. Kah-nee-lah...._ ”

Henry was standing in front of a door, the same sigil drawn on. He chanted the words, making the etching glow bright gold with rising power.

In a flutter of wings, a Hunter and an angel arrived.

“Henry, wait!”

“This is a risk I have to take,” Henry said, his jaw a firm line.

“And what if you die, huh? Who said you'll even survive a jump?”

“Dean is right,” Cas pointed out. “I can see the light of your soul is flickering. You would risk much by travelling, and then even more by attempting to change the timeline.”

When Henry turned, the golden light faded. down. “You cannot begin to understand how I felt after reading John's journal…”

“Oh, I think I can. See, I've read that thing more times than you can imagine, and it hurts every time.” Yeah, damn skippy it hurt every time. Sure, he and Sammy hadn’t had that much of a childhood, but when he read it? He knew John was missing being their dad just as much as they missed him. How he’d thought he’d been ‘compelled’ to do good. To save other people, like he’d never managed with Dean’s mom.

“Maybe so, but you didn't let him down! I did! Just like you said!”

“Well, I was wrong.”

Castiel decided it was best he did not speak right now. This was a family matter, and for all Dean insisted he was family, it would not be the same, would it? Dean would always put blood first, much like Cas would always put Crowley first. And that wasn’t wrong, it just… was. Still. Hearing him admit he had made a mistake? It sort of… made him feel a bit better about himself.

“No! No, you were right. And I'm going to go back and give him the life he deserves, not the one he was forced to live…”

“And what if it's not meant to be?” Dean pushed.

“Then it will be!”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because it's the right thing to do! I can save him and stop Abaddon!”

“What is your plan?” Cas asked.

“I’ll go back an hour before she attacks and make preparations. Be ready for her. Take her down when she isn’t expecting me to.”

“If you do that and you change the past, me and Sam might cease to exist!”

“I'm aware that time is a delicate mistress, but I'm willing to bet on this being for the best.”

“Listen, I understand that this is not your idea of a happy ending, okay, and that – that you're disappointed that me and Sam are mouth-breathing hunters. But you know what? We stopped the Apocalypse.”

“Dean is correct, Henry,” Cas said. “You should not judge them based on their title, or what you think they are. Sam and Dean have done many good things and saved many lives. They have done so despite no thanks nor reward, at great personal cost. Perhaps you think your methodology was better, but your order fell. You cannot claim it was superior if it failed.”

Dean winced under the praise, unable to ignore the ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ parable that the angel probably damn well knew he was throwing in. “He’s got a point.”

“It fell… but I can fix it. And if I do this right then there will never _be_ an Apocalypse to stop.”

“Heaven and Hell will always try to end things,” Cas said, resigned. “The archangels will always be working for that. I do not know if anyone else could prevent it, like they did. I say that in all honesty.”

“Yeah… well. We couldn’t have done it without you,” Dean admitted. “...but I still think… well. The second time could've gone better.”

“...next time, we will work together,” Cas promised.

“I just… Dean. You’re not a father. You don’t understand--”

But Dean’s phone started to ring. “Hold up…” He pressed to answer. “Sammy?”

“ _No. Much sexier. Try again_.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Abaddon.”

“ _Good boy. Now listen up – I want to make a good, old-fashioned horse trade. Henry and the key for your brother. Or he dies. Am I clear?_ ”

“Crystal.”

“ _On the road to Larry's, there's a processing plant. Don't keep me waiting_.”

Unhappily, Dean hung up and slid the phone away.

“Abaddon has Sam?” Henry asked, looking just as worried.

How did he tell him? When the dick was ready to go back in time and make sure they didn’t even _exist_? “She wants to trade you and the key for Sam's life.”

“If I could just go back, stop this all from happening…”

“And what if you can't? I can't take that risk – not with Sammy on the hook now.”

“I can't abandon my son, Dean! Not again! I need to do this. I'm sorry.” He turned away, facing the sigil again. “ _Kah-nee-lah... Poo-goh_....” As the spell resumed, the gold light flared up again. “ _Kah-nee-lah... Poo-goh_...”

“Well, I'm sorry, too.” Dean nodded to Cas.

Cas knew what he meant, so he stepped forwards and placed two fingers to Henry’s temple, and the Winchester’s eyes closed, legs buckling. Cas held his limp body up easily.

“Thanks, man.”

“Of course, Dean. I meant what I said.”

“I know you did… so did I. I’m glad you’re back.”

“With you, and Sam, and Crowley… between us, I am sure we can fix this.”

“Yeah, let’s hope your boyfriend holds his end up.”

“Believe me, he wants Abaddon gone, too. And not just for your sake, either.”

“Help me get Gramps in the car. We gotta find some way to get Sam back safe.”

***

Henry was in the back seat of the Impala, with Castiel sitting alongside. When he woke up, he jolted straight upright, blinking around to get his bearings.

“Sorry about that,” Dean said glancing at him in the rearview mirror. 

“No, you're not. You've wanted to do worse from the minute we met.”

“That is a frequent desire on Dean’s part,” Cas said, helpfully.

Dean just huffed a laugh at that. “Henry, you need to understand something. When my dad died, I couldn't save him... no matter how bad I wanted to. I never want that to happen to Sam... ever. If there's a chance that I can save him, I'm gonna do it. He's my brother. He's the only family I got.”

“So, what are you thinking?”

“Can you slow Abaddon down? Because if you can, I'll do the rest.”

***

The two humans and the angel walked through the processing plant. Henry’s wrists were tied behind his back, and Dean was guiding him by the arm. 

“Don't do it, Dean.”

“Too late for that now.”

Abaddon and Sam were already waiting for them. Sam stared at Dean, trying to communicate without words, but Dean refused to let anything slide past his poker face.

“That's the problem with you Hunters,” Henry argued. “You're all short-sighted.”

“Yeah, at least we're not extinct,” he muttered to his grandfather. The Hunter looked over across the room, raising his voice. “Abaddon! I'll send Henry here over with the box. You do the same with Sam. No tricks.”

Dean made a show of the box, making sure the Knight could see it and slipped it into Henry’s pocket.

“My only interest is Henry and the key. You three are free to go.”

The Hunter shoved Henry towards Abaddon. He refused to move any further, prompting Dean to draw his gun. “You can do this standing, or you can do it crawling. Your call.”

Sam tried to meet Dean’s eyes, to work out what was going on, but… no. Okay. His hands bound together in front of him, he started to walk carefully forwards. Henry walked, too, until in the middle, Sam stopped.

“Henry, I'm sorry.”

“Save it,” the eldest Winchester said.

Sam carried on walking, sadly. He went straight to Dean and held his hands out, letting Dean cut through the ropes binding him up. “Don't do this, Dean. This is a bad idea.”

“Shut your mouth. Let's go.” Dean finished with the ropes around Sam’s hands quickly as Henry made it over to Abaddon. “Come on.”

The Hunters and the angel made for the door, but Abaddon was faster, slamming it shut.

“We had a deal!” Dean yelled, turning back to face the Knight.

Abaddon gave a chuckle. “Surprise: I lied.” She smiled sweetly as she shoved her fist into Henry’s chest. “Your soul is mine, sweetie,” she cooed looking into Henry’s eyes.

“Henry!” Sam yelled out in shock.

Dean put one hand on Cas’ arm and the other on Sam’s and shook his head, knowing they would both want to interfere.

“But Dean!” the angel protested. Another shake of the Hunter’s head and a warning look at his brother.

“Wait. Wait.” Dean warned.

Henry’s eyes were pained, the glowing light of his soul sparking around the hand thrust deep into his chest. He burbled, blood filling his mouth… but he brought his gun from behind his back and shakily pointed it at the demon’s jaw, pulling the trigger with a shaking hand and what little strength he had left.

The shot made Abaddon’s head jerk back quickly, the bullet’s path obvious down the side of her jawline, taking off the bottom of her earlobe before it clattered to the ground. “Whoo!” She screamed, smiling and moving her jaw. “What a blast… now, give me the box.”

Abaddon reached into Henry’s pocket, pulling out a small pack of cards. She was _furious_. She was **more** than furious, actually. Her voice was shrill as she screamed at the top of her lungs, “Where is it?!”

The lights shook and sparked and threatened to burn out completely as Abaddon seethed with rage. She took in a deep breath, calming herself. “Okay. We can do this the hard way.”

Just before Abaddon could breathe her smoke into him, there was a thunderous noise, and a furious stream of red smoke rushed past her and into Henry. His eyes blinked open - red - and he smirked up at her. “Sorry, love. Squatter’s rights.”

Then before she could do anything else, he looked over to the Hunters and Castiel. “ _Run_.”

Cas put a hand on each of the Hunters, closing his eyes and flapping his great, invisible wings to take them back to the motel room, trusting that Crowley would know to follow them. He could still hear the ungodly screech, and the light-shattering sounds as he fled.

***

“Anyone fancy telling me what the plan _was_ , and how it got so utterly dire that Gramps here is currently down one soul, and up one demon?” Crowley asked, from inside Henry.

“Well, obviously I didn’t know Abaddon was gonna gank his soul, Crowley. That was not part of the plan.” Dean spat.

“Quite. But you did _have_ a plan, right? I mean, one that didn’t involve me coming in to save your sorry asses?”

Dean glanced to Cas and back to the demon. “Yeah we had a plan alright. Henry was supposed to shoot her with a bullet that we carved a devil’s trap into. It was supposed to keep her in place. Can’t hold it against the guy, I guess when you got that bitch elbow deep in your chest yankin’ out your soul it screws with your aim.” If you were a Man of Letters, he added but only in the privacy of his own head. Dean ran his hand down his face. 

“...well it was a good plan,” Sam said, meekly. “Or… would’ve been, if it’d worked.”

“Points for creativity, and remind me not to stand in front of your barrel in future,” Crowley added. “Look: I came when I could. And I have to say, Henry’s in pretty bad shape from all the trauma. Not to mention… his soul is gone. He won’t be the Henry you remember, when I step out. So…?”

Dean nodded, hoping it wouldn’t quite as bad as when Sam was in the same kind of situation. He glanced at his brother before meeting Crowley’s eyes once more. “Okay. Uh, thanks…”

Crowley could sense Cas was peering at him, and then… oh yes. He wasn’t ‘himself’ right now. “Don’t worry, my suit is hung up safely, kitten. This was a temporary measure to get everyone out safe and sound.”

“...if Henry is soulless… the Hell should we do? I mean… you know how - you know what I was like, when I was, too,” Sam said, reluctantly. “Can we get his soul back? And what do we do with him until then?”

“Perhaps it’s best if you consult Henry directly about this?” Castiel mused aloud.

Sam shrugged, feeling… well. Pretty damn useless. He didn’t want to _see_ what he’d been like. But he guessed he’d have to. “Uhm. If we wake him up, won’t he just… want to be left to his own devices. Like I was? I mean… I nearly killed Bobby to keep going. Who knows what he’d do?”

Dean looked at Crowley-Henry… whoever and narrowed his eyes. “Well, _King of Hell_ , what kinda options we got? Can we Austin Powers him, you know freeze his ass until we can get his soul back? Or maybe you can Phantom Zone him or some shit?”

Henry-who-was-Crowley tilted his head to one side, the gesture looking a little strange on this body. “Should be able to. Would you rather I did that, then you don’t have to see what is most likely nothing like the old geezer you remember?”

Castiel took a step forward, raising a hand. “I don’t think this is a very good idea… Sam’s right. Without a soul, all he will want to do is be left alone most likely… and whatever else comes to mind.” He looked sadly at Sam. He couldn’t deny he felt guilty still about the whole ordeal. “I don’t think this is the correct course of action. Henry was badly wounded… perhaps it’s best…” But he couldn’t finish the sentence. His eyes met Henry’s and he looked past them to see Crowley. He didn’t want to say it. He felt bad for suggesting they let Henry succumb to his injuries, but Castiel was not sure he could be responsible for releasing _another_ monster.

“I guess you’re right,” Crowley agreed. “If Abaddon has her hands on his soul… she’s no Lucifer, but believe me… she was one of his favourites. Even if-and-or when we get it back… there’s no saying what state it will be in.”

Sam turned to Dean. “I… Dean, I was a monster. You know that, right?”

Dean couldn’t meet Sam’s gaze. “Yeah. I know. Alright, so, we’re all agreed then, I guess?”

Cas stared at the floor intently. He felt horrible for suggesting they just let someone innocent die, but, honestly… a soulless human was not something he wanted to encounter. He gave a small nod to indicate he was in agreement.

“Alright… well. I can make it painless, or I can let him talk to you, so…” Crowley shrugged. “Guess you’re next of kin, Dean.”

Dean looks away from Crowley, maybe he didn’t see them glaze over just for a moment with tears. He bit the inside of his bottom lip, shaking his head. Half of him wanted to talk to Henry without a soul. Maybe he’d be the dick his father had made him out to be and it would be easier… 

But the other half of Dean knew it would only make it that much harder to deal with. Another shake of his head. “Thanks for your help, Crowley.” There was much more sarcasm in his tone than he had meant because he honestly _was_ thanking Crowley. This was just too much to deal with right now. “I mean it,” he added, just to make sure it wasn’t misinterpreted. Dean nodded at Cas, giving him a weak smile. “Come on, Sam. Let’s go.”

The demon was smart enough to know that it wasn’t really about him. Of course Dean wasn’t going to be in a good mood. “It’ll be quick,” he promised, and sat down on the bed. A last, deep breath and then he tilted the body’s head back, red smoke wooshing out and through the window. Without the demon inside, Henry collapsed backwards onto the mattress. One last, gasping breath… and then he was dead.

“...guess… guess… we should bury him with the other Men of Letters,” Sam suggested, looking anywhere but at Dean or Cas.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he bowed his head. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger across his eyelids hoping to wipe away the tears before anyone noticed. “Yeah… yeah.”

Cas frowned, placing an unsure hand on Dean’s shoulder. “...you did the right thing.” He tried to sound positive. He was certain that they should not have let Henry run around soulless, but it didn’t change the fact that it was a difficult decision. “Is there anything I can help with?”

Dean’s eyes threatened tears again and before anyone could stop him, he was on his way out of the room with a curt, “I’ll be back.”

Crowley was back in a blink - in his own body again - and he raised an eyebrow at the lack of Dean. “Let me guess. You all need some time to be emotionally compromised?”

“Crowley, no,” Sam said. He was torn. He wanted to run and talk to Dean, but he also… sort of wanted to stay and fix this.

“Right, right… tell you what, why don’t you go drink yourself to feeling better, and then… I’ll call with the date of the funeral?”

“I--”

“Don’t worry, I’ve done this before. Go on, Sam. Go see your brother. Cas and I can handle the rest.”

Sam looked like he wanted to object, but… a body was a body. It wasn’t Henry any more. With a nod, he went out to find Dean.

Castiel’s lips pressed into a sad smile for Sam as he watched him leave the room. “I’m glad you’re back to being… or looking… like you. It was a strange feeling. Although I’m not happy with this outcome, I do feel it was better than the alternative…” The angel glanced over the body lying on the bed.

“Yes, well… we’ll find a way to get his soul out. But not back in that body. It’s just skin and bone now, Cas. Just an empty shell. You gonna give me a hand moving it?”

***

Sam found Dean leaning in the Impala’s hood, hands slung into his pockets, head tilted up to the fading daylight. He walked over, perching on the other side of the hood.

“I get it now.” Sam said.

“Hmm?”

“What Cupid said about heaven busting ass to get Mom and Dad together. The Winchesters and the Campbells: the brains and the brawn.”

"Well, I'm glad you see it... all I see in our family tree is a whole lot of dead." Dean pulled out a photograph from his pocket, running his thumb across it. "Hey, I, uh... found this in Henry's wallet..." He handed the picture to Sam with a small smile. There was Henry holding the baseball, and John with his bat.

“Dad looks happy,” Sam said, stroking over the glossy paper before handing it back.

Dean took it back, looking at it once more. "Kinda makes you wish he knew the truth, huh? I mean, all those years thinking his old man ditched when the poor son of a bitch really came here and saved our bacon." Dean looked up, shaking his head. "Freaking time-travel, man."

“You think it would have made a difference?”

The oldest Winchester narrowed his eyes at his brother. "What?"

Sam shrugged, not wanting to meet Dean’s eyes. “Dad. If he'd had his own father around.” What would it have been like? Would they even exist? Would his father have been happy? If Heaven was dead set on them being born he guessed they still would have. But what else would have changed?

"What, in how he raised us? Sammy, he did the best he could..."

“I know that. I – I do. They all did.” No, he didn’t blame them. Not one bit. This was all their dumb, sucky luck. He pulled out the box Henry had died trying to keep from Abaddon, lifting it up.

Dean smirked a little as his eyes fell the box. "What are the chances that place is still standing?"

“A chance we've got to take, I guess. I mean, we are legacies, right?” Another shrug. “We should… we should probably bury him. With the other Men of Letters. I mean… we’re his family, still. He deserves that.”

"Yeah..." Dean looked back towards their room. "Guess we gotta move a body, huh?"

“I think… I think Cas and Crowley are sorting that out.” A snort. “Dad would roll in his grave, but… he’s helping. For once.”

Dean chuckled. "Yeah he would... God damn it..." I miss him. "Cas says Crowley's on the level. I dunno man, I still see demon... as long as he's helping us, though, guess he's alright."

“Wouldn’t be the first - or last - time we worked with a demon.” Although most of those had turned out bad at some point. “And he’s better as a friend than an enemy. C’mon.” He knocked elbows with Dean. “We really gotta find some way to take Abaddon down. She won’t fall for the gun trick twice in a row.”

"Yeah maybe our newest 'friend' can come up with a better plan. But in a bit we got a proper Hunter... Man of Letters... Legacy funeral thing to do, first."


	76. Chapter 76

The Impala ground to a halt at the entrance to a bunker, which was recessed into a bank. It looked like it was two storeys tall, and it seemed to be in good repair, though abandoned. Sam and Kevin leaned forwards in the back seats, peering out through the windshield. Up front, Linda hmphed, clucking her teeth, impressed.

“When's the last time somebody was in this place?” Dean asked.

“Sixty-five, seventy years ago.” Sam unclicked his seatbelt. 

“It looks to be well cared for,” Linda said, climbing out of the passenger seat.

The four of them walked down the small flight of stairs to the door, and Dean pulled out the key from the box. “Here goes nothing,” he said. “Guess we hope they didn’t have any kind of Indiana Jones security, huh?”

“If there’s a boulder, I’m sorry, but I’m running,” Kevin said.

Inside there were no boulders, no pressure-sensitive plates and no blow-dart pipes. What there was, instead, was a spacious and retro (or, at least, retro _now_ ) furnished building. Up front, Sam and Dean waved their flashlights, walking until they found what seemed to be some sort of hub on the lower level. They walked up to the railing, peering down at the vast array of old-fashioned communications array.

“Son of a--” Dean stopped, looking apologetically at Linda.

“Please. I have a teenage son. I’ve heard worse.”

“Mom!”

“Actually, I’ve _said_ worse.”

“Look at this,” Sam said, before it got any more uncomfortable. “Ham radio, telegraph, switchboard. This was their nerve center.”

“Henry did say that they ran dispatch on their own team of Hunters,” Dean said, with reluctant approval. His light wandered around, showing a table with chess board, ashtray, glass and even a dirty coffee cup. It looked nasty. “Wow. Halfway through their coffee and a game of chess: looks like whoever was manning the hub left quick.”

“I suppose we should be glad that’s the worst mess so far,” Linda said. “No offence, but I’ve seen what kinds of mess groups of young men leave.”

“Yeah… well they were educated,” Sam said.

“Young man, you do know what students are like, don’t you?”

“You know he went to Stanford, Mom.”

“Oh yes, you did say. Well, he should know better than most. Students are… a law unto themselves.” A nostalgic smile played over her lips.

Sam stifled a little amused snort. “Well… whatever it was, they left pretty fast. I’m guessing it was for the alarm call that ended the Men of Letters.” 

There was the electrical switch box. Dean opened it up, and flipped a lever, turning the lights on. He flipped more.

“Son of a bitch.” Sam was impressed. Really? It all still worked? Even more impressive - they still had a feed on the mains? Who the Hell was paying the bill?

“It’s pretty funky,” Kevin said, walking down the stairs, admiring the old tech. It was way older than he was familiar with, of course, but he could tell it had been the cutting edge back in the day. 

“I wish we’d known about this sooner.” Linda lead the way into the next room, which looked more like a study: there were huge bookshelves lining the walls, bright, polished wooden floors and broad tables. It looked pretty luxurious, as studies went. “This is much nicer than those off-the-books motels you boys like.”

“Hey, they serve their purpose,” Dean said, defensively.

Somewhere, a turntable hummed into life, and ‘Get Thee Behind Me, Satan’ started to play.

“...guys,” Dean said, turning to each of his companions in turn. “I think we found the Bat Cave.”

“You sure it’s not the Fortress of Solitude?” Kevin smirked.

“Dude, there’s four of us here. How is that Solitude?”

“Yeah, well the Bat Cave had Batman, Robin, and Alfred…” Kevin waved at them. “I’m guessing I’m Robin, but--”

“I am _no one’s_ butler,” Linda pointed out. 

“Okay… okay. Fine. It’s not a perfect metaphor,” Dean admitted. “But you gotta admit, it’s pretty cool, huh?”

“I’m assuming there’s enough rooms for us all?” Linda asked.

“I’m sure there will be,” Sam replied. “Let’s go find out.”

***

Abaddon returned to Hell to find it a changed place. It was nothing like she remembered. It was… dull. It wasn’t the exciting, vibrant, murderously fun place she remembered. It wasn’t the hotbed of activity. It wasn’t even filled with screaming. Sure, parts of Hell still seemed to involve torture (thank Lucifer!) but there was an awful lot of it that… just… didn’t feel like Hell.

She snapped a few necks, trying to get information. Most of the demons she interrogated broke far too easily, and then the dying word on several lips was ‘Meg’. Meg. That was who they said she should find. So she would.

***

“Castiel. Why haven’t you found the angel tablet yet?”

He was a little disorientated, being pulled up to Heaven in the middle of - what had be he been doing? He couldn’t remember.

“There was an incident with a Knight of Hell.”

“Abaddon. I heard about that.”

“It seems the archangels did not destroy them all.”

Naomi put her hands palm-flat down on the desk. “No. And neither did the Winchesters.”

“Their grandfather died,” he said, eyes narrowing. He was well aware of their failure.

“So you have successfully not found the tablet, because you were not-dealing with the demon.”

Cas frowned. "Apparently... we had a plan, it just did not work out the way we had expected."

“You know how dangerous a Knight of Hell with that tablet could be, don’t you? What about the Prophet? Has he managed to work out how to seal off Hell, yet?”

"I am aware, yes. He is still working on it. From my understanding it's incredibly difficult."

“If he had been taken to the desert as was protocol, perhaps this would be moving along faster.” Naomi was not impressed. Not at all. “Perhaps we should think about trying that again.”

"The prophet does not want to go to the desert. It's more comfortable for him where he's at. Things are not as they were, Naomi. Times have changed."

“Not all for the better, Castiel. Have you not seen what has happened of late? How many of your brothers and sisters have died? Some at your hands, some at the Leviathans. Do you think we are all safe from Abaddon? No, we must protect ourselves at all costs.”

A hand-wave, and it was clear she was dismissing him. “Find the tablet. Whatever it takes, find the tablet. Nothing else matters right now. Nothing.”

Cas knew they weren't safe from Abaddon. She'd thrown the seraph around easily when had her hands on Crowley. And oh, how that angered the angel.

Suddenly Cas was looking around his surroundings, feeling as though there'd been done time lapse once again. And he was angry... _so_ angry. But why?

The angel realised he was snarling and ran his tongue out over his lips as though it would wipe away his anger... it did not.

***

Meg was not hard to find, really. Not when she heard the rumours of a Knight of Hell. Abaddon had laid claim to a small, but strategically important piece of Hell’s landscape, and the small group of more… driven… demons who clung to her ankles in desperation were more than happy to protect her boundaries with their lives. The potential rewards were, of course, incentive enough. 

“Hello, Meg,” Abaddon greeted her, regally as would befit a Queen. “Please. Do sit.”

The younger demon nodded, and took the seat opposite her. 

“You know,” Meg said, “It’s pretty hazy for me to be here, right now. I’ve only come because I know you can protect me. Damn Crowley totally has the hots for my ass.”

“Yes, I had heard that. I heard he wasn’t happy with you, because of your loyalty to the true ruler of Hell: Lucifer.”

Meg nodded, a harrumph of bitter laughter. “Something like.”

“Well, he will not be King for much longer. I intend to wipe the little weasel from the face of the planet. String him up as an example for all demons not true to the real cause. I can count on your support, can’t I?”

“One hundred percent… boss.” A smirk. “Nice to see someone with real vision again.”

“Yes, well. All the mistakes he’s made… I will fix them. I will make Hell great again. And you will be my right hand demon, won’t you?”

Meg nodded fiercely. “Always.”

“Good. Now, I want to know what’s happened since I have been gone. In detail…”

***

Dean wandered into the communications hub, wearing a grey bathrobe loosely knotted, and plush slippers. He looked smug as Hell, and he nodded at Kevin and Sam, who were both already hard at work leafing through books, or trying to work on the tablet.

“Morning,” he said, cheerily.

“Morning.”

“You made yourself at home?” Kevin asked, eyeing the casual attire with an amused grin.

“Dude. It’s awesome. Even the, uh, water pressure in the Letters' shower room is marvelous.”

“Yeah. I still can't figure out how we even have water... or electricity.” Sam got up to find another book.

“Maybe they knew someone on the utilities company, or… maybe they don’t run off the main grid?” Kevin sipped at his coffee, wondering.

“Yep, well, I am putting that under the ‘ain't broke’ column.” Too much investigating and it might get turned off. “Listen, little brother, let's not go all geek on this stuff, okay?” Dean added, noticing Sam’s small mountain of research material.

“...’Geek’?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I mean, don't – don't get me wrong…” He pulled a scimitar from a display stand, hefting it with open admiration. “This stuff is awesome, and it looks like they ran a real tight outfit here, but I'm just saying, you know, don't, uh, don't think that they knew some big secrets that we don't know.”

Sam was looking away, and Kevin was nose-deep in the tablet, and the sword was just… it was… he felt for the balance, then went into a pose he’d seen on some film or other, imagining himself in some Kung Fu movie or… Sam turned, and Dean quickly moved into the most nonchalant, relaxed pose he could. Nope. Not dicking about. Nope.

“Dean…” Sam said, not calling him out on his childish behaviour if he had, in fact, noticed. “They were a secret society.”

“Which means that they made crap up and wore fezzes and sashes and swung around scimitars. They probably didn't even sharp–” he ran his finger along the blade, but then hissed and jumped back. “...that’s very sharp.” He put the scimitar back on the weapons’ stand.

“Well they knew how to plumb, apparently,” Kevin said. “And they have good books, it seems. And…” fighting a smirk, “...swords.”

“Yeah, yeah. Books. I guess we can turn words into action, huh?” Dean dropped into a chair on the side between them at the table.

“Speaking of words, I’ve managed to crack one of the tests, and it's gross.” Kevin sounded apologetic, because the test looked like it was neither fun, nor safe. “You've got to kill a hound of Hell and bathe in its blood.”

“Awesome.”

“Awesome?” Sam echoed back, brows arching in surprise.

“Yeah. Hey, if this means icing all demons, I got no problem gutting some devil dog and letting Calgon take me away.” Dean’s fingers were all but itching. 

“Where are you gonna find one?” Kevin had read about them, but that was the end of it. And reading about stuff was nothing like doing it, as he’d found out when he’d gone on the run and been recaptured.

“Well, Hellhounds like to collect on crossroads deals,” the elder brother explained. “So all we got to do is track down some loser who signed over his special sauce ten years ago, get between him and Clifford the big dead dog - easy.”

“...doesn't sound easy.”

“It's not,” Sam agreed. “They’re invisible, except to the person who they’re coming to collect… and other demons. And I don’t think Crowley would be all that keen on helping us kill one of his puppies.”

“Alright so, should we start looking for a concentrated chunk of _amazing stories_ near a Crossroads, then?” Dean offered.

“Are… are all the Hellhounds his?” Sam wondered. “I mean. We know we see them at deals, but… do you think there’s some other way to see them, too? We know Crowley hates Meg. Maybe… maybe we could get him on board with killing one of hers?”

Dean nodded in thought. “If we could gank one of those bitch’s pups and get Crowley on board to help us sniff one out… yeah… good plan, Sammy,” Dean said, smacking a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Let’s find out how we’d actually kill one, first, then we can get Cas to ask about the dogs when we have a plan of attack?” Sam suggested.

“Well, I’ll get back to reading,” Kevin agreed.

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean said, clapping his hands together. “Who wants _waffles_?”


	77. Chapter 77

“Any news on the Megbaddon alliance?” Crowley asked.

“Yeppers, but there’s something I think you need to hear first,” Cecily said, leaning forwards in her chair. “When I heard that there was a third tablet, I ramped up my tracking. You know, I’ve got peeps in every major town? Well. I do. That job you got me in the NSA has been sooo invaluable.”

“It’s paying off a thousandfold,” Crowley agreed. “Please. Go on.”

“From what I can tell, Meg is getting ready to hit an underground vault. Sort of… a crypt. You know? And she’s been calling her peeps up in prep to smoke into the locals. Well. I had some of _my_ peeps on standby, and we caught one of her mooks, yeah? Scotty did a number on him… and voilà!” She presented the map of Indiana. “I found where Meg is giving the marching orders for. It’s somewhere here, but… I can’t narrow it down for sures.”

“Wonderful! And I take it she hasn’t found the tablet yet?”

“As of…” she looked at her watch, “twenty-three minutes ago, no - this was all plotting and she’s not started yet.”

“Then we have no time to lose. Cecily… you did really well.”

“Thanks boss!”

“I think it’s time for a field trip.”

***

“Why would Lucifer trap his own vault? I mean: he has demons working for him, and he _is_ an angel himself - fallen or not - so why would he keep his most treasured things accessible only by the things he hated the most?”

“That… is an interesting question, Dean.” Cas frowned. “Perhaps because he under-estimated humans. Or else he thought that no one would consider using them to open up his crypt for themselves.”

“Whatever the reason, we - unfortunately - need you, Dean, Sam. Especially if Meg and Abaddon’s alliance holds out. Just what the world needs: power lesbians.”

“...could you maybe not, Crowley?” Dean complained.

“Yeah. Not cool man,” Sam seconded.

“Hmm? Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking of finding them in bed together and ripping their h--”

Cas cleared his throat, and the demon shrugged, nonchalantly. “Yes. Right. Sorry about that. Got a little carried away. But it’s true, the sooner we leave, the better. Meg knows where she’s going, so we’ve got - oh - minutes?”

“Why is it never weeks?”

“It is, Dean. But no one says ‘come on, we’ve got weeks, we can probably catch the last part of Game of Thrones before we head out’...”

“Just… whatever.”

Cas supposed it was better than some of the bickering he’d had to put up with, and he put a hand on each of the Hunters’ shoulders. A nod to Crowley, and they all appeared in town.

“How will we know where to go?” Sam asked, when they landed.

“Crowley and I will split up. We can interrogate any demons we find, listen out for magical traces…”

“Yeah. Okay. We’ll look for demons, too. No offence, Crowley, but if they’re Meg’s, I guess you don’t mind them being ganked.”

“Mind? I’ll give you a bloody medal, chuck.”

“Call us,” Sam said, and he gestured for Dean to come left with him.

***

“That is the place,” Cas confirmed. “There are many demons already here.”

“Figures… she’s probably trying to work out how to get someone to go down there for her, considering the wardings. But if she’s got Abbie on her side, who knows what she can get up to…” Crowley sounded… hurt, still.

“How we gonna play this?”

“Well I was thinking first an acoust-- okay, fine. One of you two stay behind and help me fight them off. Cas, you and the other brother go in and retrieve the tablet for us. Sound good?”

“I’ll go in,” Dean volunteered at once. 

“...sure,” Sam said with a sigh.

“You keep my angel safe, Dean Winchester, or I swear the last time you were in Hell will be nothing in comparison to what I can do to you with a single, rusty Swiss Army knife. _Including_ the tool designed for descaling fish, and the one for removing stones from your horse’s hoof.”

“...that’s what they’re for?” Sam half-joked. “C’mon. I want to get this tablet safe before Abaddon shows up. You go left, I’ll go right?”

“Of course I’ll go sinister…” Crowley rolled his eyes, but went around the corner right up to the demons guarding the door. “Daddy’s home!”

Once enough of a path was cleared, Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulder and blipped them in behind the fighting. Thankfully, no one noticed as they burst into the warehouse, and ran to the basement. 

“Gotta be around here somewhere… can’t you feel a tingle?”

Cas shook his head. “Too heavily warded. It is only the demonic security detail that gave the game away. Although…” He paused, his hand running over the wall. “There’s a draft. There is something behind there… Stand back.” He put his hand flat to the wall, using his Grace to push. There were weaknesses, there. Fracture lines. With the power curling inside him, he could push until they cracked.

As the dust settled, the path to the inner crypt was revealed. 

“Nice going, Cas.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

They went through, and the path eventually opened up unto a large room: it was dusty and filthy, from years of neglect. Scattered all around were artifacts from all over the world… underneath the grime and the spider-webs. Dean shone his flashlight around, trying to work out what was important and what not. Probably everything in here would be priceless, or incredibly useful, but there was really one thing they needed above all else.

In a blink, Castiel was in another place. White, cold, clinical and clean. He opened the door to Naomi’s office. “I found it,” he announced.

“Tell the Winchester the crypt is empty. Then you can come back--”

He kept his hand on the door, neither entering nor leaving. “It's warded against angels.”

“Well, you can come back--”

Cas shook his head. “No. Meg and Abaddon have their demons guarding this place. It was difficult to get inside. I had to use Crowley and Sam to hold the demons off. We’re running out of time.” He stepped in, the door left to shut on its own. “What should I do?” 

“Handle it.”

“Dean…” He pointed to something on a shelf. “That's it.”

On his direction, Dean lifted his flashlight and it flickered around a carved, wooden chest. “How do you know?”

“It's the only thing in here warded against angels.”

The Hunter picked up the chest, hefting it onto a table in front of the angel. It certainly felt heavy enough. And it wasn’t like he had any clue otherwise - searching here might take longer than they had. He pulled out a small knife, and used it to prise open the lid. Even warded, Cas would be able to tell if it was trapped, right? Maybe not. But fortunately it opened with a small creak and a sigh, and sure enough, there inside was a large block of stone, just like the leviathan tablet. It must be hidden inside.

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner.” It was nice to have something go right for once.

“Good. Hand it to me, and I'll take it to Heaven,” Cas said, holding his hand out.

“No, we will take it to Kevin so he can translate.” 

“Right. Of course. I'll take it to him right away. No time to waste.”

“We can all go to the Bunker together, Cas. Are you forgetting your boyfriend and my brother upstairs?”

White light. “If the demons get their hands on the angel tablet, they'll kill us all. They'll destroy Heaven,” Naomi said. “Even Crowley. You must bring it back to me as we agreed.”

“Crowley would not hurt me. And I can reason with Dean - he's a good man.”

“Kill him.”

Cas shook his head at Dean. “You can tell Sam and Crowley to come back. The tablet should not be around the other demons, and you cannot fly out of here. Please give it to me.”

“You can go get them to come down here and we can all go together.”

“...I need the tablet. I can’t let you keep it.”

“Can't or won't?”

“Both.”

“The Hell’s gotten into to you, man? Is this a Crowley thing? Are you planning on… I don’t know… running Heaven and Hell between you again?”

Light. Cas begged Naomi with his eyes. “There has to be another way.”

“You have done this a thousand times, Castiel. You're ready. Kill him. Then take the tablet and bring it home, where it belongs.”

“C’mon man,” Dean was wheedling. “You told me your demon-thing wasn’t gonna be an issue. You said it was all fine, and now you’re back to being crazy-Cas. Level with me. Tell me the truth. If it’s really the right thing to do, then the tablet is yours.”

A slight gesture, and the angel blade slid into Cas’ grip, his fingers tightening around the hilt. The talk of his demon was making him… feel worse. Edgy. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like any of this. He didn’t want to kill Dean, just like he hadn’t wanted to kill Samandriel. But she was there. _She_ was there, in the back of his mind, saying ‘kill, kill, kill’ over and over and over. It was a scream inside his head.

“Cas. Cas, I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but if you're in there and you can hear me, you don't have to do this.” 

The angel stepped fowards, his blade lifted, and Dean held up the tablet in self-defence. The blade glanced off, and there was a flash of light, with the distant rumble of thunder. There was any element of surprise blown. “Cas!” 

Light that was brighter still, and the seraph paced around the other angel’s office. “This isn't right.” He didn’t want to kill him, but he knew Dean would fight to the death. And then he’d come back if at all possible, and fight all over again.

“Do you realize what that tablet can do for us?”

“I…”

“For Heaven?”

He realised. Of course he realised. He also knew what would happen if it somehow ended up in the hands of Abaddon and Meg. He wondered if this could have been averted if he’d killed Meg when he had the chance. “I won't hurt Dean.”

“Yes. You will. You are.”

Dean was yelling, using the tablet like a shield. “Cas, fight this! This is not you! Fight it!” 

Light. Evil light. Heaven no Heaven any more. Cas clutched at his head, pained. “What have you done to me?!”

“Just relax, Castiel. Let your vessel do what you know deep down is the right thing.”

“What have you done to me, Naomi?”

Dean took a step back. “Who's Naomi?!”

“A bloody pain in the arse is what,” Crowley said, charging into the room and going to stand between Cas and Dean at once. Sam trailed behind, looking even more confused.

Light. “What have I done to you?!” Naomi was affronted. “Do you have any idea what it's like out there? There's blood everywhere, and it's on your hands. After everything you did -- to us, to Heaven. I fixed you, Castiel. I fixed you!”

Dean. “Cas… c’mon man…” 

Cas narrowed his eyes at the demon standing between him and the tablet. No. Not ‘the’ demon. _His_ demon. “Crowley, please do not interfere.”

“Like bloody Hell I will, Cas. What’s gotten into you? The Cas I know wouldn’t lift a hand to Dean. What did that bitch do to you?”

Cas raised a hand and grabbed at the air, yanking Dean towards him. Crowley grabbed for the Hunter’s collar, holding him suspended between them, but the sudden jolt made Dean choke and drop the stone and hidden tablet. The casing shattered, revealing the carved tablet hidden inside.

With effort, Crowley broke the hold Cas had on Dean and threw him backwards. He hit the wall, but he was behind them again. 

“Angel… **angel**. She’s been fucking with your head, hasn’t she? All this time you thought you were broken because of the Leviathans, because of Purgatory… but it was _her_.” Crowley looked incensed. To think he’d gone to her for help, and she’d stony-faced lied to him. That hurt more than anything else. They had been colleagues, once. More, maybe almost. 

“I need the tablet, Crowley.”

Neither angel nor demon moved to retrieve it, the words heavy on the ground between them. Neither wanted to be the first to break the stand-off.

“No. _We_ need it. Us. You, me, Sam, Dean, Kevin and his mum. **Us**. We’re a team, Cas. A team. Partners. Whatever she’s done to you, you can work through it. You can come back to us - I know you can. You even managed to beat the Leviathans in the end… even Lucifer. You think Naomi is really going to kick your ass?”

“I--” the blade faltered in his hand. He could feel the rage of the other angel, the memories of the knife being plunged into countless Sams, Deans, Megs, Cecilys.

Light. Castiel slammed a hand onto Naomi’s desk. “Please.”

“End this, Castiel.”

The seraph raised his first to punch her, but then it wasn’t Naomi before his eyes, it was Crowley. Crowley who looked worried, but not hateful. Concern and love were the only things on his face.

“Fight her, Cas. Stronger together, remember? It only ever breaks when we’re apart. If you’ve got me, and I’ve got you… we can take on anything and survive. C’mon, Cas. She’s just a lousy angel, not even an archangel. Where’s my golden boy?”

His fist lowered onto her desk, his eyes flashing blue at her.

“Bring me the tablet!” Naomi screamed, anger flooding her tone.

“Listen to him,” Dean said, pushing up behind Crowley. “We’re here for you, Cas. You can fight her off, whoever she is. C’mon, Cas…”

“Yeah, Cas. You can do it. I know you can,” said Sam.

Crowley took a half-step forwards. “Kitten. Look at me. Look at me. Not her. Me.”

But she was in front of his eyes again, her presence achingly strong. “You have to choose, Castiel: us or them.”

Cas looked again, and he saw his demon and the Righteous Man, side by side. Both of them believing him him. Amber and green eyes that didn’t hate, didn’t judge. He looked to them, begging for forgiveness. 

“Cas… I love you,” Crowley whispered.

The blade fell to the floor with a heavy, final ringing noise. Cas nodded, unable to speak. He bent to retrieve the tablet, and as his fingers touched it, the etchings began to glow. The light flared, coursing up his arm, surrounding him and then the room with the bright light of Heaven.

“It’s okay,” Cas told them, as they shielded their eyes from the Word of God. “It’s okay.”

The light inside of Naomi’s office was flooded instead by the tablet, and the angel called out in surprise, hands up to block out the glare. As the light faded, she screamed Castiel’s name.

“I'm so sorry,” Cas said to them all. 

“You gonna tell me what the hell just happened?” Dean asked.

“Naomi,” Crowley explained, “is one of Heaven’s…. specialists. In intelligence. I actually asked her for help, would you know. In how to fix my angel. Turns out she was responsible instead.”

“So, this ‘Naomi’ has been controlling you since you got out of Purgatory?”

The angel nodded, eyes lowered.

“Well, w-what broke the connection?”

“I don't know. I just know that I have to protect this tablet now,” he said. “I have to. More than anything else.”

“From Naomi?”

“Yes. And Abaddon. Even from you.” He looked up to Crowley. “I am sorry, love. I will be back as soon as I can. Please… this is not forever.”

“Wait, Cas, don’t--”

But the angel was gone, leaving the demon and two Hunters alone.

“Bollocks,” Crowley said. “Fine. Are you two going to baulk at a ride, or do you fancy avoiding the inevitable shitstorm topside?”

“For once… I’m gonna go with you,” Sam said.

“Well, there’s a first time for all the flying little pigs.”

***

Back in the bunker, Sam was shaking his head. “So... what happened? I mean, Cas touched the tablet, and it reset him to his factory settings or something?”

“I don't know. And I don't care. All I know is that he is off the reservation with a - a heavenly WMD.” Dean was just shy of pacing.

“Naomi… we go back,” Crowley said. “Way back. I was telling the truth before, I went to her for help. She’s… kind of the angel equivalent of the NSA, or the CIA. You know?”

“So, what, angel spook?” Dean asked.

“More like angel intelligence agency. But yes, it’s probably the closest equivalent. If things are going down, she normally knows about it.”

“And you didn’t get that your boyfriend was being brainwashed?” The older brother snorted derisively.

“And did you know your angel ‘friend’ and ‘family’ was? Dean… you _saw_ what the Leviathans, and the Cage, and Purgatory did to him. I’ve been trying, but it’s not like I can snap my fingers and make it all better. Don’t you think I wish I could?”

“So what do we do now?” Sam asked. “I mean. He was pretty clear he didn’t trust any of us.”

“I think he’s honestly trying to protect it - and us - from Naomi and Abaddon. Maybe he’s right, maybe he’s wrong.” Crowley shrugged. “I’ll try calling to him. He might listen to me. Then again, he might be waiting for us to kill Abaddon and… well. Maybe Naomi, too. And believe me, if I get my hands on that--”

“Okay. So you’re gonna call Cas.” Sam nodded. “In the meantime… we sort of… got a plan.”

“Oh?”

Sam shot Dean a look. “Kevin’s found something about how we can get rid of Abaddon, on the tablet.”

“Wonderful! Please promise me it will be excruciatingly painful?”

“Well, we don’t know, but probably.” Dean lied.

“Right. Well. If I can be of assistance, let me know. I’m going to go call for Cas. You boys be okay if I go? Or is there something you need first?”

“Nah, man, we’re cool.”

“Alright. Sam. Dean.” A nod to each. “If Cas gets in touch with you, please let me know. And if I can do anything to help with the Abaddon situation…”

“Yeah,” Sam offered a thin smile. “We’ll call.”

“Kisses,” said Crowley, and then was gone.

When Dean was sure they were alone, he turned to Sam. “The Hell, man?”

“The demon trials. Sealing Hell. It _would_ take care of Abaddon.”

“Yeah, and Crowley, too.”

“Is that really that much of a concern?”

Dean shrugged. “...guess not.”

“Kevin told me he’s found some more stuff about the Hellhounds. We can start today.”

“...sure. Maybe if we can get rid of the demons, we can convince Cas to come back, too.”

“Even better.”

***

Castiel sat on the bus, the tablet in his hands. He stared down at the letters, but they made about as much sense to him as daytime television. Perhaps even less. He put the tablet into a bag and zipped it shut. He could hear Crowley in the distance, praying to him. Over, and over, and over. ‘Cas, come home’. ‘Cas, let’s talk about this’. ‘Cas, I promise we’ll only talk, you can trust me, angel’. He could. He could trust Crowley, but could he trust himself?

The bus trundled on, carrying all the inhabitants in blissful ignorance, except for Castiel. He knew he would not last forever. He knew his demon’s calls would get too loud to ignore. But he wasn’t going to forever. He was just going until he could work out what to do for the best. He couldn’t risk this tablet getting into anyone’s hands, not until he knew… until he knew…

Cas stared out through the window. _I will come, I promise, Crowley. Just as soon as I am able._


	78. Chapter 78

Castiel pulled out the phone that Dean had given him. He should at least contact Crowley… he felt horrible. It’s not that he didn’t want to answer his demon’s prayers, it was… he just… had to be sure he wouldn’t do something he’d regret. He could never live with himself if anything were to happen to Crowley at his hands. 

He knew Crowley’s number by heart and he input it just like Sam had shown him. _Texts are for when you don’t wanna talk but you still kinda do_. At least that’s what Dean had told him. Castiel did **not** want to talk to Crowley right now, not with his voice, anyway. He didn’t trust it. But he _did_ want to respond to him. 

_’Crowley I am sorry I have not answered you yet_.’ He hit send a little too soon. Damnit.

_’Please meet me at the Biggerson’s restaurant in Williamsburg, Virginia. I love you_.’

As soon as Crowley got the text, he was straight out of his office. He didn’t even send a reply, instead opting to go straight there before Cas changed his mind. He looked around, and saw him in a booth by himself. With a smile, he went over to his table and slid in opposite, nudging his foot against the angel’s and smiling. 

“I see you’ve finally joined the twenty-first century, love. I’ve been worried about you.” He leaned over, a hand out for his. “But I’m glad you got in touch. It’s been Hell without you, but you know that already.”

Cas looked down at their hands. "I'm sorry, Crowley. It has not been easy. I did not want to hurt you and I was unsure I could trust myself. I need to keep this tablet safe. I _need_ to."

“Let me guess… it’s one of those angel things I won’t understand?” He shrugged. “Alright. But I still want you to know I’ll do anything you need me to do, to help. Just don’t… don’t stay gone for good.” He held his hand tighter. “Is there _anything_ I can do to help you? To get you back where you belong?”

"I promise. I will not stay gone for good. Just... find a way to kill Abaddon... as soon as possible." Cas frowned as he looked at Crowley. He missed him so much it hurt. "I do not like being apart from you, my King."

The demon’s answering smile was a little broken, but he was doing his best not to look like he was hurt. (He was.) “Working on it. You _know_ Hell is unbearable without you. How’s the noggin? I know that bitch must have done a number on you… I’m so sorry I didn’t realise. I even went to the cunt and asked her for help fixing you…” The smile turned nasty. It spoke of things he would do to Naomi when he found her.

"I feel much better, despite the overwhelming urge to protect the tablet. You couldn't have known she was behind it, Crowley." Castiel smiled wide. "I love that you get so protective of me... I feel the same way about you."

“Someone’s got to look after you, angel. And… I’m still going to kick myself over it. God only knows how long she’s been messing with your head.” Eyes that narrowed. “You should know that I’m not going to let her get away with it.”

"I assumed she wouldn't," Cas said with a bit of a frown. Yes, Naomi had wronged him and very well nearly killed Dean and Crowley with the seraph's own hands. So she deserved it, but Cas still regretted that yet another of his siblings needed to die.

The demon’s eyes narrowed into a squint. “You don’t approve?”

"... I just feel sad that another angel has to die because of me..."

“I know, Cas. I know. But… after what she did to you? Could you ever trust her again? That was… that was a move worthy of Hell, not Heaven, kitten. If you really want her to live, she’ll live. But she might wish she didn’t, when I’m done with her. **No one** hurts my angel. No one.”

Cas thought for a moment. Crowley was right, of course: it was an _awful_ move. He took a deep breath. "I trust you to do what's best, my King," he smiled, squeezing his demon's hand.

The King lifted the angel’s hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles, then dropping it down to the table, putting his other hand over the top. “Do you need me to do anything to keep Heaven and Abaddon off your tail? If you say the word, I can have Cecily mobilise any number of decoys up and down the country…”

Cecily. The angel growled internally. He still felt a touch of jealousy regarding the female demon, even though he knew it was ridiculous. "That would probably be helpful. Speaking of, unfortunately I cannot stay much longer. I do not want to go, Crowley. I miss you."

“Don’t be a stranger, love of my life,” Crowley insisted. And then he pushed to his feet, grabbing Cas’ tie, and pulling him over the table-top to press their lips together in a fervid, hungry kiss. He bit at Cas’ mouth, then pushed his tongue deep inside to remember himself to his love. He didn’t give a damn who noticed their ridiculous public display. **His** angel. When the kiss broke, he dragged his fingers through his hair, mussing it up further. “I’ll be waiting for you. Always, Cas. I hope you know, now.”

Cas was on Crowley’s side of the booth in a blink, uncaring to what any witnesses may have thought they saw. He pulled Crowley’s head towards his own again, their lips locking fiercely once more. It was all hungry, sloppy, teeth and tongues and the angel could _never_ get enough of that. 

The seraph only pulled away when his vessel was screaming for air, though he kept his lips close to Crowley’s as he spoke. “I can’t… not right now… I need to go. But I love you so much, Crowley. I’m sorry.”

Castiel did not wait for the demon to answer him before he vanished. He knew if he uttered one more word from those beautiful, perfect lips, Castiel would not be able to resist him. 

When Cas left, Crowley was left clutching at thin air where tie and hair had been. Damn. _Damn_. He was uncomfortably aroused in public, and now Cas was off gallivanting across the world, and… _damnit_. He was going to have to take a cold shower.

He pulled out his cellphone first, though, and dashed off a quick text. He was a demon, after all.

‘ _Don’t forget when you get home there’ll be plenty of make-up sex. Even if we didn’t fight this time. Kisses - C.’_ He added a little smiley devil face to the end and pressed send.

Maybe Cas might be missing, but if he had a phone on him…? Hmm.

***

A little later on, Crowley was still nursing his tea and waiting for his waffles (made sense to properly patronise the place, to placate the nervous stares he’d got at the sudden boyloving, and then the confused blinking when they couldn’t work out where his loverboy had gone. Plus, if he was around, he’d make them even more uncomfortable. And people who in this day and age still thought two men (or reasonable facsimiles of the same) in a happy, healthy, consensual relationship was something to shy away from deserved to feel as uncomfortable as humanly (or devilishly) possible.

What Crowley did not expect was the God Squad to turn up, looking for Cas, no doubt. Naomi - on her own - but she was sadly still powerful, and without some tricks up his sleeve, he just could not blast her to Kingdom Come. Much as he wished he could.

“Ah, bitch,” he greeted her, warmly. “So nice of you to join me. Would you like some arsenic tea?”

Naomi barely tilted her head in greeting before sitting down across from the demon. “He was here, wasn’t he?”

“Hello to you, too. Who are you talking about?”

“Didn’t take you for an idiot, Crowley, what with running Hell and all. Thought you’d have a bit more sense.”

“If you’re referring to the angel you were twisting around your finger, without a care for how badly you were breaking him?” There was deadly ice in his tone. “Yes, he was here. No, he’s not here now. Yes, I am going to make you rue the day you hurt him.”

Naomi held her chin up high. “I’d love to see you try. I can see this conversation is going nowhere, so I leave you to your lonesome cup of coffee.” 

“Tea, darling. Tea.” His fingers looked about ready to smash the mug. (Another abomination, serving it in a mug, but at least it was tannin.) “You’re lucky there’s people about, you do realise?”

Naomi almost laughed. “ _You’re_ lucky there’s people about. Do **you** realise?” The angel stood to leave. “If I were you, Crowley, I’d watch your back.” She turned and walked out the diner and was gone with a flap of silent wings.

Yes, because he might not have been able to restrain himself - even if it meant putting himself at risk. Crowley knew a long string of words to insult females, and he muttered each one in turn into his mug before draining it. Fuck the waffles. He was going to set fire to something.

Once away from the King of Hell, Naomi _did_ laugh. Good. If Crowley wanted, she’d give him one… after all, she’d been planning it for centuries, ever since he stole her heart and crushed her before they ever even had a chance. She would make him pay for that, for Castiel, for everything.

***

“...I need you to be safe, Sam, okay? That's what I need.” Dean’s nostrils flared in annoyance as he tried to keep his tone level. 

“What? What am I-- when are **we** ever safe?” Sam demanded.

“This is different.”

“How?”

The older brother rolled his eyes. “Because of the three trials crap - God's little obstacle course. We've been down roads like this before, man; with Yellow-Eyes, Lucifer, Dick frigging Roman. We both know where this ends: one of us dies... Or worse.” Worse. Like. Lose your soul worse. Or go to Hell and be tortured and turned halfway to demon worse. Or any number of other worses.

“So, what - you just up and decided it's gonna be you?”

“I'm a grunt, Sam. You're not. You've always been the brains of this operation.”

“Dean--”

“I know it’s late coming, now, but you… you had hopes of a real life. A career. A frigging… **real job**. You could see a light at the end of this ugly-ass tunnel. I don't. But I tell you what I do know: it's that I'm gonna die with a gun in my hand. 'Cause that's what I have waiting for me - that's all I have waiting for me. I want you to get out. I want you to have a life - become a Man of Letters, whatever. You, with a wife and kids and - and - and grandkids, living till you're fat and bald and chugging Viagra... that is my perfect ending, and it's the only one that I'm gonna get. So I'm gonna do these trials. I'm gonna do them alone: end of story. You're staying here. I'm going out there. If landshark comes knocking, you call me. If you try to follow me, I'm gonna put a bullet in your damn leg.”

“Dean would you just--”

“Trouble in paradise, boys?” Crowley appeared in the doorway, and Dean had to stop short not to walk straight into him.

“Could you maybe _not_ , dick?”

“Easy, Squirrel. You’re the ones who called me, remember? Not the other way around. Hardly fair to expect me to keep an eye on the spatial layout of your whole homestead so I don’t step on your shoelaces?”

“Crowley, we called to ask a question.”

“...well I didn’t think you’d asked me to come for tea and biscuits. Oh, I’m sorry: _cookies_. So what can I help you fine gentlemen with today?”

“Hellhound.” Dean was stepping back into the room, out of Crowley’s personal space.

“Come again?”

“Are they just a Crossroads thing, or do other demons have them?” Sam expanded. “We need one. For the spell to kill Abaddon.”

“Oh, and you want to know if I can rustle you up a lame one, or one belonging to our mutual friend Meg?”

“Got it in one,” Dean said, winking and pointing a finger-gun at him.

“I can find you one. I take it I should not expect to be giving it back to its original owner?”

Sam shook his head. “No. We need to kill it. Kevin’s found a way to make it visible, and we got the demon knife, so…”

Crowley visibly winced. “Please don’t go into graphic detail. I am very fond of Growley.”

“Did you just say--?”

The demon shot a warning look to Dean. “Got a problem with that?”

“...nope. Nada. Zilch.”

“I’ll bring one, but be ready for a fight. Those beasts can be bloody fierce when the mood takes them, and it will smell the fear on you.”

“We’ll be ready,” Dean said, with a glare at Sam. “You just bring the mutt.” And he made good on his earlier attempt to leave.

“...what was that all about, Moose?”

Sam shrugged. 

“...alright. I get it. I’m not exactly your favourite person, but you can’t say I’ve been anything _but_ helpful, recently. Not sure quite how much more I need to do to convince you of my honourable intentions.”

“Crowley… we get that you’ve got a thing for Cas--”

“...‘Got a thing for’... Sam. Please. Give me some credit. I’m old. You must know by now I was never good old Fergus… just suffice it to say, I’ve been around the block a few times. This isn’t some schoolboy crush. You really think it’s easy for me? A demon? And an angel?”

“I guess not.” Sam pushed his chair back, nodding to a free chair.

Crowley turned it around and sat backwards astride it, arms folded over the back. “Not only do all the other angels object, but then there’s my own subjects. I hear the rumours. The disgruntled underlings. I was lucky to have Cecily and Scotius hold things together when I was in Purgatory - not a place you ever want to go, by the way - with that Meg bitch trying for yet _another_ Apocalypse… which, by the way, is **so** last season. Wait. Sorry. The season before, and the one before _that_. God.”

“But you really see it working out? I mean - long-term?”

The King shrugged expansively. “Has to. It’s the only thing that’s made any kind of sense in… forever, Sam. I mean that. I don’t wax poetic like this over just anyone. But this - this is **Cas**.” His voice broke a little, and he ruffled in his seat. “If he asked? I’d give up my throne. That’s how serious I am about this. Nothing - _nothing_ means more to me. When I thought I’d lost him…”

“When he was Emmanuel, and when he was in the asylum?”

Crowley nodded. “It was like life wasn’t worth living any more. I can’t do that again. No matter what I have to do, even if it means being nice to you and your functionally illiterate brother…”

At Sam’s angry little sharpening of his eyes, Crowley threw his hands up. “Alright, alright. I’ll try to keep a civil tongue in my head. Normally that’s Castiel’s.”

“You really mean that about Hell?” Sam asked.

“I mean, I’d rather make sure it was in good hands than not, but if it was a deal-breaker… yes. I do, Moose. And you should know I am a demon of my word.”

“Unless there’s a way to twist them.”

“Twisting is not the same as lying, but… not about this.”

“Well. Okay then.” Sam drummed the pen between his fingers on the desk. “Dean wants to do the trials, not me.”

“I see. And you are playing out-martyr, that’s the thing?”

Sam nodded yes.

“And you want me to - for some reason - tip the scales in your favour? Why?”

“Just… I need to do it, Crowley. I need to.”

“Alright. And why should I go behind Dean’s back to assist you?”

“Because… because I don’t know.”

“Oh, how glad am I you never went to the bar. I can just see you defending the meek and merciful now: ‘He didn’t do it, your honour. Because. I said so.’...”

Sam snorted in uncomfortable amusement. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I’ll find something. I mean, there must be something you want… other than Cas.”

“I’ll let you mull that one over, L’Oreal. It’ll be interesting to hear your proposal. Now… I’m going to go wrangle me a pooch. Have yourself braced. I’m not joking about their tempers.”

“Alright. I’ll see y--” But Crowley was already gone. Sam wondered if Cas was rubbing off on him.


	79. Chapter 79

Sam stood back, admiring the goofer dust Devil’s Trap he’d drawn on the floor. The trap part probably wasn’t necessary, but it was good to cover all your bases. He and Dean were both wearing the holy-fire scorched glasses and they looked ridiculous. Truly ridiculous. It was impossible to take someone seriously who wore sunglasses indoors anyway.

“We ready for this?” Sam asked, hefting his angel blade. It was still technically the plan that Dean and the demon-killing knife would run the show, but Sam had insisted on being ready to play backup. 

“As I’ll ever be.” Dean put on a brave smile, trying to mask the fact that he was scared. Closing Hell… erasing demonkind from the earth… surely this wouldn’t be a milk-run. “How ‘bout you?”

“Same. Well. He’s due any minute, now. Remember there’s the spell to say after you bathe in its blood.”

Dean waved the knife around. “Yeah, yeah… got it.” He tapped his forefinger against his temple. “You think Crowley--”

Whatever Dean thought about Crowley he never got to say, because that was when there was a horrible noise, a sound of growling and snarling and claws. In a flurry, _two_ Hellhounds appeared, rolling on top of one another, then going to opposite sides of the room, circling one another. Crowley appeared along with them, brushing himself down and looking shaken.

“Hello, boys.”

“I thought we said _one_ , Crowley, not **two**!?” Sam was braced and looking for an in, in less than a heartbeat.

“Yes, well I--”

Dean lunged for the hound that appeared to be after him with his knife out in front. “Crowley! Call ‘em offa me!” Dean jumped out of the way just as the beast jumped towards him, falling to the ground, knife skittering across the floor. “CROWLEY!”

“You dumb fucking twat, that’s **Growley** , don’t you touch a hair on his precious head or I will **castrate you**...” the demon scruffed his hound, turning him away from Dean, and pointing him at the other hound. “Sam… now would be a good time to step up to bat.”

It was an absolute farce, with the goofer dust sprinkled everywhere, chairs overturned and it was difficult to work out what was what. Crowley sent a burst of telekinetic energy at the other hound, staggering it. “Come on! It’s time to go all Steve Irwin on the bitch.”

Sam crouched down, angel blade in front of him, but then the hound found his feet and pounced, knocking the Hunter onto his back. Jaws snapped right before his eyes, and Sam thought that was it. Damnit. He was going down, and it was like this? But then there was a yowl of pain, and he realised the other hound - Growley? - was biting this one’s hindquarters. As it turned, ready to attack, he lifted the blade up and sliced right through its jugular, sending a hot, smelly, sticky rain of black blood all over his face. He sputtered, gagging on the foul taste of it.

“ **SAM**!” No, no, no. This was wrong, it was all wrong. It was supposed to be Dean, not Sammy. The dropout with six bucks to his name, the one with no future, the one who was supposed to _protect_ his brother from everything. And he fucked it up. “Sam! Are you okay?!”

The younger brother nodded, then quickly rattled off the Enochian spell before it was too late. When it was done, he shoved the body off and staggered to his feet. “Yeah, Dean, I’m fine.”

Crowley, meanwhile, was crouched down and fussing over his dog. He was scritching it between its ears, cooing soft words of encouragement to it. It _sounded_ like it was making noises of content, but it was difficult to tell past the death-rattle that was its voice.

Dean gave a strange look to Crowley, followed by a small chuckle. He looked back at Sam. “Well… one down. Two to go, huh? I’d give you a hug, but…” The older Hunter made a face of disgust and feigned a dramatic shudder. He did, however, pat Sammy on the back. Two more trials… two more. They could do this, right? Hell, they’d done harder things… worked miracles… yeah. They could do this.

One last hug around Growley’s neck, and Crowley stood up. He dropped one hand into his pocket and sent the angel another quick text - not needing to look - and then nodded at the two Hunters. “Well. That was fun. Let’s never do it again, hey? Have you worked out the next step, or should I go and wait to hear, while I laugh at Meg’s screeching noises when she finds out you killed her precious baby?” Like his baby, who was circling in and out of his legs, and occasionally growling at the boys. 

“...Kevin hasn’t translated it yet. Uh. Have you heard from Cas?” Sam asked.

“Also, uh, thanks…” Dean interjected. “And yeah, heard anything from Cas?”

A low bow, over one arm, and then Crowley was back up, smirking. A thanks from Dean. Pigs might well fly, and perhaps he should invest in a snow plough? Hmm. “We’re in touch yes.” The last text had been mostly professional, telling him they were one step closer to killing Abaddon. There had been _other_ messages, though, and he wasn’t about to divulge that to the Winchesters. “He’s fine. He’s just keeping on the move until we can get rid of Abaddon at least, although possibly Naomi, too.”

“Well we’re a third of the way done,” Sam said, utterly stony faced. “So that’s a positive.”

“Awesome. Well… I’m starving and Sammy here could use a shower… and some bleach maybe… so I suppose we should get going and check up on Kevin, right Sam?” The oldest Winchester raised his eyebrows at his brother to emphasize the fact that Dean _really_ wanted to get out of there.

“I get it, I get it. Wham, bam, thank you Crowley. Well, I hope it was good for you, too. Thanks for making me feel like a whore.” He looked down at Growley. “C’mon. I’m going to feed you some nice treats, boy. You did really well today, Daddy is so proud.” And before they could answer, he snapped himself out.

“...you know, he did kind of do us a favour, Dean. No need to kick him out.” Sam wiped more of the black blood from his face, on the back of his hand. “...not that he’s gonna be happy when he works out what we’ve tricked him into doing.”

“What the Hell did _you_ wanna do with him? Ask him to stay for dinner and pie? And when he finds out we’re lying to him…” he shook his head, “...it ain’t gonna be pretty as it is. No need to make it any worse.”

“Yeah… okay. Whatever. I’m gonna go shower. This stinks.”

“Alright, I’m gonna go check on Kevin then. See if he’s found what’s behind door number two.”

***

Castiel’s head was resting against the window of the bus, watching the rain droplets fall - laying his bets about which would reach the bottom first, which would join together, which would sheer away in the wind - when his phone vibrated again. The woman sitting next to him smiled a little when he jumped and reached quickly into the pocket of his trenchcoat to get the phone out, clearly amused by his cautious optimism whenever the device alerted him to an incoming message. He gave her an unsure smile and tried to keep the phone out of her sight, because there was no telling what Crowley had sent this time. He was certain it was Crowley, because Sam and Dean never called or sent him text messages. 

And Crowley sent him a _lot_ of messages. Some of them were just simply _I love you, angel_. Some of them were more… private in nature. Sometimes he sent pictures. He sent pictures of their bed, of cookies, of his tie, of the Supernatural books. He sent a picture of a glass of Craig on his lips, Castiel’s pillow, anything the King thought would make his angel smile or come home just a little bit sooner. He sent pictures that were obviously drawn by his own hand, of the various ways he was planning to torture and kill Naomi, or poorly rendered versions of Sam and Dean with antlers and a squirrel tail, normally accompanied by little stories about their latest ‘serial killing’ spree. 

Cas smiled. The latest picture was a tub of some icecream which was apparently called ‘Phish Food’. It was a large tub, and it had a single spoon in it. The King had such a sweet tooth and no real metabolism because he was a demon, so Cas knew the demon would scoff the whole thing down in one sitting. The message attached to the tub was simply **:(** which he had struggled with for a very long time, until, frowning, he tilted his head curiously at collection of punctuation marks and then all had become clear. It was a little sad face. It was Crowley.

The angel fiddled around with the settings, finding what looked like a pictorial representation of a camera. It was hardly correct, because the small lens on the back of this ‘phone’ was nothing like the old style camera it implied it was. After a few photographs of his knees and thumbs, the woman next to him said: “Here, let me…”

And Cas was schooled in all the functions, which he did his best to remember. Flash. Delayed shot. Front camera shot. It was all very complicated. The woman patiently clapped him when he managed to take a shot of the raindrops on the window - somehow forcing the focus, like she’d shown him - and then she even showed him how to send it to Crowley. 

“How do I make it a happy message?” he asked.

“Happy, how?”

“He sent me a picture of a face that was sad. I… I suppose I do not want to imply I am happy without him, but…”

“First time away from him? Son, or…?”

Cas blushed. “No. Partner. And it is… it is the second time, but the first time I was… I was ill. I was not aware of most of the time that we were apart.”

“Gotcha. Well, you could always send a loveheart. Then you say you love him, even though you’re apart. That sound good?”

It did, so he nodded. She showed him how to put the ‘less than’ symbol next to a ‘3’. It did not really resemble a real heart but he understood it was the best that could be done with normal input characters. He said a genuine thank you, and she said no problem.

“I think it’s awesome,” she said.

“What, being apart?”

“No, stupid. You being happy with him. It’s cool. ‘Specially because you can say it in public.”

“It has taken us some time to get to this stage. But yes… I am happy with him. I just hope we are not apart for long.”

“Well, you just keep texting and calling him. Someone as pretty as you? He won’t forget you in a hurry.”

Cas smiled. “Thank you. I hope you, too, find love as true.”

“Yeah… one of these days.” She winked. “Ariel, by the way.”

“It is a lovely name. Mine is Castiel.”

They talked for the rest of the bus journey, and he was sorry when she finally left. 

***

“Seriously… again?” Crowley came when they called - at least they’d stopped summoning him into traps for the time being, so he came as soon as they got in touch. No sense risking them reverting to more drastic attempts to get his attention if he didn’t show.

“There’s three trials in total.”

“Kevin, right? Google Translate of the Lord?”

“...yeah. And this is my mom.”

“Linda.” 

“Pleasure to meet you both. I’m Crowley. I run the Hell.”

“So the brothers have been telling me.” The Prophet’s mother narrowed her eyes at him. “They also tell me you’re helping out with their plans to save the world. Again.”

The King of Hell put one hand before him, bowing slightly over it. “I am a demon of many talents and interests, Mrs. Tran. It is in my vested interests to remove the Knight. She is _not_ conducive to the smooth running of the afterlives.”

“So Kevin got the second one translated,” Sam said. “And… well we could do with your help again.”

“What is this, Crowley Saves The World? I mean, not that I really object, but if I am going to do most of your jobs for you I expect to be invited to the office Christmas Party.”

Dean waved at Kevin, hoping he’d jump in and stop the stream of King of Sass. Kevin took the gesture and interpreted it at once - it was not so hard to speak Dean. “Well, it says that an innocent soul has to be rescued from Hell and delivered unto Heaven.”

“Which is where you come in, Crowley.” Dean was perched on the table-top, legs swinging back and forth. “We need a soul from you to go up topside. Preferably one that should never **be** in Hell to begin with. You think you can help out?”

“You do realise that if someone is in Hell, they’re in there for a reason? What do you take me for? Either they sold it - in which case it’s a fair cop, guv’nor - or else they’re horrible, nasty, filthy sinners at the end of their mortal tenure. I don’t go around _stealing_ souls.”

“Well… what about Henry?” Sam asked. “I mean. He would go up, not down, wouldn’t he? Except Abaddon ripped his soul _out_. So if she’s in Hell, that would count?”

“...what have you heard about Hell?” The demon’s eyes were sharp, almost angry. “Come on. This is supposed to be a partnership. You know? Give and take. And right now, I seem to be Mother Freaking Teresa.”

“Nothing, I swear. We just… kinda figured she’d be somewhere in Hell, not on Earth. So we were right?” Sam looked earnest, and not like he was concealing anything.

“...yes. Hell is… large. Vast. It’s difficult to police all of it, especially now Meg and Abaddon are working together… bitches. I hasten to add, I have nothing against females,” he nodded to Linda. “Many of my good friends are - or were - female. It’s just these two are…” Hands balling into fists, squeezing imaginary stress balls.

“So does that mean you’ll help?” Kevin asked, because Crowley was going a little red in the face.

“...I can, yes, but… Sam has to complete the step himself. And not to mention Abaddon won’t let any soul go all that easily. But if it’s what needs doing, then it needs doing.”

“...maybe I should come, too?” Dean suggested.

“It’s okay, I got this, Dean. Seriously. It’s probably best not to send a huge group in, just in case. I can manage it.”

Green eyes didn’t seem to believe that. “We’re better together, Sammy. Always have been.”

“I got this. It’s fine.”

“Well it’s going to take me some time and resources to find out where to strike. I’ll let you make your peace with the Squirrel. Be ready to go - whoever’s coming - when I get back. Sound good? Well. Nice chat. You really should look into providing a buffet for things like this, in future… I _know_ you feed Death. Kisses!”

“...wow,” said Kevin, staring at the place Crowley had been. “Never gonna get used to that.”

Sam snorted. “You will, eventually. It’s when they _appear_ outta nowhere you gotta worry.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”


	80. Chapter 80

Crowley raised his chin up, eyeing the youngest Winchester. “Sure you’re ready for this, Moose?”

“Yeah, I’m ready. I mean. As I can be. What’s your master plan? We just gonna ninja in and shove his soul in our pockets and run?”

“I’ve set up a distraction, quite a large one, which should allow us to get in, get what we need, and get the Hell out.” 

“What if Abaddon shows? Are we just gonna run for it? I mean… if you could kill her I guess you already would have, and you wouldn’t need me.” Sam felt for the demon-killing knife, running his finger over the hilt. “I guess… I guess we should just go for it.”

Crowley smirked, snapping them down to a far corner in Hell. It was close to where Abaddon was said to have set up camp, but far enough to be undetected, for the moment anyway. 

“Two demons at the door…” Crowley narrowed his eyes. “I wonder what kind of alarm will trip when their entrails are splattered all over the place…” 

“No more dogs, I take it?” Sam asked. He looked around - this was what he expected of Hell. Dark, black and red. The sort of low light that made your head ache. There were no screaming victims, but he guessed that went on somewhere else. Knife out, he tipped his head to the left, indicating Crowley was to go that way. 

Sam could only go at human speeds, but that was fast enough. He ran for the door, and to begin with, the two guards didn’t notice them until they were almost on them. He went for the one on the right, blocking a blow, taking it on his arm, and using the knife underneath to go straight into the demon’s solar plexus. There was a guttural moan, a sudden flare of light and the demon was dead.

Crowley had the other demon down and dead before Sam turned around. "Nice ninja moves, Jolly Green," he smirked. "Shall we?" He motioned to the door, which was locked and no doubt warded. Crowley tried a couple different things, bypassing the wards easily.

"My intel tells me Meg is working closely with the ginger bitch. I'd put money on the whore holding down the fort while the so-called Queen Bee is out."

The compliment washed over the Hunter, and he nodded absently. It was second-nature, after all. “Right. And if we come across her?” Sam asked, wiping his knife clean. There didn’t seem to be any audible alarms sounding, but then - he wasn’t a demon. He approached the door to the small building carefully. Considering demons were dead, and often incorporeal smoke-clouds, Hell did sure seem to be more physically reminiscent of Earth than it needed to. Maybe it was a force of habit?

Crowley raised his eyebrows before grinning from ear to ear. “We end her.”

***

Dean was fretting. He didn’t like being left alone, waiting up when Sam was off gallivanting around Hell with its smarmy, sleazy King. He didn’t _do_ waiting well, and he’d already been scolded by both Linda **and** Kevin. It was one thing having their apparent surrogate mother yell at him, but when a kid half his age told him to quit skulking, it just was too much.

So he was doing helpful things. Like investigate the bunker. Inventory their belongings. Admire the garage. The cars were old, but sometimes you just could not improve upon perfect design. He patted Baby on the bonnet and told her he wasn’t cheating, he was just checking out the backups. Some of the batteries needed charging, and they’d probably benefit from a good service, but when he got the engines ticking over, most of them purred like kittens. Craftsmanship. They just didn’t make ‘em the same these days. Not to _last_.

He was just about to slide under the Chrysler when there was a familiar flapping sound. Rubbing his hands on an oil rag, he pushed the creeper back out, looking around. “Cas?”

“Not quite.” 

It was a female voice, and Dean rushed to his feet as soon as he could, hefting the nearest thing to hand, which was a wrench.

The angel smiled, taking a few steps closer. “We haven't been formally introduced, Dean. My name is Naomi.” She offered her hand, courteously.

Dean cringed back, a half-step, and his mind was already rushing through all the weapons and escape routes in this garage. “Oh, I know who you are. And I know what you did to Cas after he got out of Purgatory,” he growled. “You screwed with his head and had him spy on us.”

“Well, it is true that I have spoken with Castiel many times, trying to reach out to him, trying to help him. Dean, you must have noticed how Purgatory changed him. I mean, he's been unstable in the past, but I was shocked at how damaged he is now.” 

Her tone was oh-so-level. It was hard to reconcile that with what he’d seen Cas has turned into. Was she some form of psychopath? Could angels really be psychopaths? “Stop, okay? Don't - don't try to spin this. You think I don't know that you told him to try and kill me? And take the tablet? Dude. I saw his eyes. You’d done a number on him.”

“Hmm. Yeah, I suppose that is how he would hear it. When I learned of the angel tablet, I did tell Castiel to get it at any cost. That's my job: to protect Heaven. I'm a warrior, just as you are. What would you expect? And now Castiel is in the wind with a hydrogen bomb in his pocket, and I-- I'm scared. For all of us.”

God, they were so full of shit, weren’t they? Cas would never have tried to kill them. Even when he’d been whacked out with bad souls, he’d not tried to kill them. Just… okay. Hurt Sammy. “Save it,” he growled. “See, I don't trust angels, which means I don't trust you.”

“And yet you haven't warded this place against us… I know, you're hoping Castiel will return to you. I admire your loyalty - I only wish he felt the same way.”

Dean bet she did. So she could dick with his head some more, so she could try to use him as a puppet again. That was, if she didn’t just slaughter him and take the tablet. No wonder he was on the run.

“I know you don't want to believe it, Dean, but we're on the same side: shutting the Gates of Hell, bringing Castiel in from the cold. Take a moment. Think about what I've said. I know you’re working with the demon Crowley, but is he really a better choice than me? He doesn’t even have control over Hell right now.”

“Yeah, but he has his uses. He’s pulled through for us the last time.”

“As long as it suits his needs… but he has a habit of pulling out before the end, you know.”

What the Hell was it with angels having the hots for him, Dean wanted to know? Because that sure as day was day sounded sexual to him. Or was it just the constant innuendo stream from the short demon’s lips made you associate him with depravity? Dean shuddered.

“Everyone always helps you as long as it suits _them_. Ain’t no surprise there.”

“True, I suppose. But over the long-term, I would like to think your strategies and goals align with mine, instead of his. Think about it. I’m a powerful ally to have.”

As the sound of wings faded, he wondered if he’d imagined the corollary: ‘and a dangerous enemy’.

Shuddering some more - why did angels and demons make him feel so… so _filthy_? - Dean jumped back onto the creeper. He wanted to busy his hands with something he’d see an end result from. Cars made sense. They followed rules. Made a Hell of a lot more sense than anything else.

***

Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary in the way of alarms. There was some traces of spellwork and the like, but Crowley honestly hadn’t it expected it to be so easy to navigate. Until they were suddenly surrounded by six demons, none of which were Meg _or_ Abaddon. Crowley took out one, stabbing his angel blade through the throat of one of Abaddon’s minions before he ended up getting punched right in the face. 

It did nothing but piss him off and he quickly took out two more. “How are we doing over there, Moose?” he yelled out as the light faded from the third demon falling lifeless on the floor.

Sam managed to run one through, but he was feeling less-than-stellar since the first trial. Not that he wanted to admit it - not to Dean, and certainly not to _Crowley_. One of the demons grabbed hold of his hair, tugging back and making him hiss in pain. He turned as well as he could, slashing out and scoring the demon across the upper chest… just enough to make it stagger. The momentary reprieve was enough to break the grasp on his hair, and then with one hand on the demon’s shoulder, he sunk the blade hilt-deep in between its ribs. Light, and snarling and it was dead. Leaving one.

One who applied an elbow to his jaw - all but dislocating it - and Sam sputtered as he staggered back. He wasn’t going to ask for help. No. Even as his arm was windmilling with the knife, trying to make contact.

Crowley was there in a blink, angel blade shoved through the lesser demon’s back. Light flashed and sparked, then faded as Crowley tossed the demon to the side. A snap and Sam’s injuries from the fight were gone. “Sorry about that, Moose. Shall we continue on?”

Sam felt a little like a failure, being rescued like that, and he just nodded a little, shaking himself down. “Yeah. Let’s go. Can… can you feel if Henry’s inside, or not?”

“I can, and he’s in there, but before we run in guns - or rather, knives - blazing… why’d you volunteer yourself for this, Sam?”

“...someone had to, Crowley. You know what me and Dean get up to. It’s… just… par for the course.”

“Sure it’s not some kind of self-destructive streak. I know those run in the Winchester family line,” Crowley said, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, apparently that’s what Heaven played Cupid for.” He shrugged. “Sort of… what we’re for. Helping people. I don’t expect you to understand. I mean… what _did_ you sell your soul for? Something tells me it wasn’t to save someone you loved.”

“Been a demon for a long time, Sam. A **long** time. I’m gonna be honest, I don’t remember.” 

“Don’t… dude. How _long_ have you been a demon? How do you forget something like why you damned yourself?” Sam frowned. “That’s kinda fucked.”

Crowley snorted. “It was sometimes after the invention of writing, but before the television.” The demon smirked. “You’d be amazed what you forget over the span of a demonic lifetime.”

“You ever regret it?” Sam asked, as they made their way further in. “I mean. The whole demon part of it?”

“Didn’t care for the pitchfork up the bum, but power and whatever I want forever? Not a bad deal, these days.”

“...there must be some drawbacks, though? Even as King? I mean… damnation isn’t supposed to be a _reward_.” Sam was ever-so-slightly annoyed.

“What, you think it was easy scratching and clawing my way to the top? I just told you, Gigantor. I’ve been around for a long, long time. The fact that I’m only just now reaching the top ranks should be an indicator. It wasn’t easy and no, it wasn’t a walk in the park. All I’m saying is - _these days_ \- it’s proven to be worth it.” Especially now that he finally had his angel back… well… not physically back at the mo, but back in general.

“I guess. If you’d not gone to Hell, then you--”

“Hello, boys,” Meg’s mocking voice interrupted the conversation.

“Oh, look, Sam: a whore. Seems like we’re in the right place, hmm?”

“Meg… we can still work something out,” Sam tried. “You want that, don’t you? You gotta know Abaddon is bad news. You saw what happened to Yellow Eyes and Lucifer. Give it up… and we might all get out of this.”

Meg laughed. “Oh, Sam. You’re one to talk. Shouldn’t _you_ know that _Crowley_ is bad news?”

“No one wants to hear you talk, Meg. So let’s cut to the chase - I want Henry’s soul. I know it’s here. We can do this one of two ways: you can keep your whore mouth shut and I kill you _or_ you tell me where it is making it that much easier. What’s it gonna be?”

“Wouldn’t you kill me anyway?”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“If you want it, Crowley, _come and get it_. I don’t just give it up for smarmy dicks.”

“For the love of… Meg, why can’t you see this is a really bad plan? Why the Hell are you working for her?” Sam didn’t want her to die if it came to it, dick though she was. But he was running out of patience to talk her down.

Meg gave a rather sarcastic smile to Sam. “You’re too sweet, Sam. All worried about little ol’ me. There’s a greater plan, as I”m sure you’re well aware of. My part in this whole shebang is bringing back Lucifer so things can be as they were. Abaddon is capable of bringing him back so my loyalty lies with her. It’s a good plan.”

“It’s a stupid plan, Meg.”

“Now, now… as much as I love a good tit for tat, we came here on business. So let’s get on with it, shall we? I gave you your options, sweetheart. What’s it gonna be?” Crowley twirled his angel blade around with a grin.

“I’ll never help you, Crowley you--”

But Crowley was faster than Meg and sick of her bullshit. His blade sank into her chest, a smile plastered across his face. “Can’t say I didn’t offer you better, whore.” He chuckled as she dropped to the floor.

As Meg died, Sam just… stared. Well. She was a demon, yeah, but… she’d sort of been on their side, too, and… He shuddered. “Better keep looking, before Abaddon realises we’re here.” Meg was dead. And strangely, Sam wondered how Cas would take it.

Crowley wiped his blade with his handkerchief, narrowing his eyes at Sam just staring at Meg. “Oh come on, Moose, don’t tell me you’re all upset over the whore?”

“Not upset, just… she helped us a few times. It… it’s weird. It’s nothing.” Sam wondered if he’d feel the same detached strangeness if someone killed Crowley. “We should keep going,” he said again, wandering around the room until he found a locked door. It didn’t budge when he tried to force it, so he reached into his pockets to find his lock-picking tools.

“Sam, please, allow me,” Crowley grinned, holding a hand out to stop the Hunter. A snap and whatever warding had been in place was gone. A single box sat on a small table in the center of the room. Crowley narrowed his eyes searching for magic and checking for traps. Another snap to clear the room and he moved to open the box. 

Inside it was Henry’s soul, beautiful and glowing a bright blue. It reminded him of Castiel’s Grace, only not as beautiful, of course; there was nothing more beautiful than his angel. He grinned as he handed the jar to Sam. “Better do it quick. Raggedy Ann will be on our scent, I’m sure of it.”

“Not here. If we let go of it here… I’d rather know we were on Earth. Less far for it to go wrong in, huh?” He pulled the jar in closely, wondering if his own had looked like this, or if it had looked… worse. “Can you beam us out from here?”

“As you wish.” Another grin and a snap and they were topside once more. “You have the spell handy I take it?”

“Yeah, I--” but then they were back.


	81. Chapter 81

Back in Lebanon, out front of the bunker, Sam stood with Dean and Crowley. Dean, who insisted on being there, naturally. Sam pulled back his jacket sleeve, brandishing a knife. “ _Solvo haec phantasmata in terram_...” Under his skin, bright yellow and red lights started to dance, scrawling hot, painful-looking patterns across his forearm. “... _et inde ad olympum_...”

As he lifted his arm up, the light muted into a blue-white that rose up from his flesh and swirled into the sky. Henry’s soul was pulling free, starting to edge Heavenward.

“That it?” Dean asked, frowning at the light. “Seemed kinda… easy.”

Crowley laughed. “Easy? You weren’t in Hell, Dean. We had to fight off Abaddon loyalists… including Meg.”

Sam winced, and Dean caught it. 

“I see. And Meg?”

“Will never more darken your door. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“...right. Thanks. I guess.”

“You guess? The bitch stole your cipher and God only knows what else and you ‘guess’ you’re happy she’s gone? Maybe you should ask Kevin how well he treated her. Or the delightful Linda. Speaking of, she’s a right firecracker. If I was not already a happily married man…”

“...is there anyone you _don’t_ want to bang?” Dean scoffed.

Sam waved them to shut up, as the soul finished dithering, and made a bee-line upwards. 

“Guess that’s it.” Dean was still waiting for the kicker.

Sam pulled out the scrap of paper with the spell words scratched on and intoned them. “ _Kah nuh ahm dahr_.” As soon as the spell was completed, he grabbed at his right hand, dropping down to his knees. He was fighting to hold back cries of pain from the light inside his hand that _burned_ like it was trying to consume him from the inside out. He balled his hand up, trying to squeeze the pain out… until finally the glare died down.

“Sam? What? What?! Talk to me! What?!” he grabbed at his brother’s shoulder, frantic with worry. Sam looked like shit. Like real shit. And Dean was _not_ convinced these trials were going as well as he kept insisting.

“It's okay! It's okay! It's okay. I'm fine. It's done. It's done.”

“You look like you could use a stiff drink,” Crowley suggested. His head was tilted, curious and concerned. “Magic as powerful as you’re doing? Has to be taking its toll on you. You want me to snap anything up?”

Sam frowned at the King of Hell. Had he just volunteered to cook or something? A sudden wash of guilt for what they were planning, but… no. It had to be done. It had to be. “...I’m fine. I just need a few and I’ll be right.”

“Okay, if you insist. I’m not going to force it on you. But you should remember I don’t _always_ insist on a signed deal, when it’s a little favour - an arrangement - between friends. In fact, I’d rather like to keep all the real contracts with my second in command, right now. For obvious reasons.”

“...yeah, well, good to know, Crowley. But right now we just need some space to work on the last trial. Uh. Spell.”

“You know where I am, boys. And if you want me to bring the popcorn, you have but to ask.”

A snap of his fingers, and Crowley was gone, leaving Dean and his arm wrapped around his brother.

***

“How you doing?” Sam asked, leaning against the table Kevin was working on.

“Good. I think. I mean, I’ve got most of the last trial down. It’s… it’s some form of purification thing. About demons. Not exorcism, but… something a bit like that.”

“Cool. You can do it, man. You’ve done awesome so far.”

“I know,” Kevin grinned. “Advanced--”

“Placement. Right. I remember. Hey…” something on the notes caught his eye, and he leaned down. “Is that… is that one of the side notes you said you kept finding?”

Kevin nodded. “Yep. From the scribe.”

“Can you show me some more of his editorial comments?” 

Sam leafed through, his finger running along the lines until… “Yep. There it is again, every time.”

“It’s his name. I mean. I think so. It’s not the same as translating, really. It’s… hard to explain.”

“Yeah. Well… II think I've seen it before. I mean, it was a long time ago, it was one of my, uh, humanities courses at Stanford. I’m pretty certain it was the same symbol.”

“...you mean you could just have gotten someone at Stanford to translate all this crap?” Kevin rolled his eyes. “You could have told me before. Spared me the tylenol and almost-strokes. Not to mention the Red Bull habit.”

“No. I mean, it wasn’t like - translating or anything. It was… the rest of this makes no sense, just that one picture. I think it was during the overview of Native American art. I think it's a petroglyph.”

“Which is… what? Rock-writing?”

“Yeah, sort of. The stuff they used to carve into rocks, along with the pictures of animals and stuff. Hang on… there must be something in one of these books here.”

Kevin decided now was a good time to take a break, and he rocked his chair back onto two legs. A long stretch and he pushed his elbows down, one at a time, popping his shoulders. It sounded much worse than it felt, and he knew he’d been in a bad sitting posture again. It was hard to remember to take care of yourself when you got caught up, though.

Dean walked in, then, a whistle on his lips. “Hey. ‘Sup?”

“Sam’s going to take my job off my hands.”

“Not quite.” The younger brother came over with a book, his finger holding the place. He dropped it carefully onto the desk, pointing to a diagram. “There’s the symbol: identical. It can’t be a coincidence. This carving belonged to a tiny tribe in Colorado, more of a - a clan, really. It says here they held on to their scrap of mountains when all the other tribes fell to the white men. So this glyph was a territorial marker: closest translation: ‘messenger of God’.”

“Really, Sam? You find the same squiggle in a book and you think it’s important?”

“Dean. It’s the exact same symbol. If it’s true… what if it’s Metatron?”

“Why would we need him? We got Kevin.”

“You think if we’ve found him, Abaddon won’t? If he wrote this shit down, maybe he remembers what he wrote. Maybe he knows it all, already. If she finds out what we’re up to - if _Crowley_ finds out? We’re screwed. Not to mention he might be able to tell us about the angel tablet. Maybe get Cas out of the cold, too.”

“But Sam… you can barely function.”

Sam wanted to shake him. “Dean… I’m only gonna get worse. You know that. This is too big a lead to not follow up on.”

“And you think this Metatron is hiding out in the mountains with a bunch of Indians.” Dean sounded incredulous. They had the tablet. They were one step away from banishing demons for good. Why was Sam getting so worked up over this? 

“Yeah! Yeah, I do.” Whatever it was, he’d got his mind set on it. “You're not - you're not really supposed to say Indians, it's... We should go.”

“Nope. You can stay here with Kevin.”

“I don’t need babysitting!” The Prophet rolled his eyes. He wasn’t some kid. Sure he wasn’t a Hunter, but he was no idiot.

“Dean, I can’t let you go on your own.”

“I’ll call Cas.”

“You really think he’ll come with?”

“I think if it’s our chance to get the bitch Naomi off his back, he’ll bite. I mean, he has to be sick of being on the run, right? And maybe there’s something in there to fix him, like Crowley said.”

“Well the tablet on demons isn’t about fixing them…”

“...it sort of is,” Kevin said, quietly.

“What?”

“I was telling Sam before… the last trial? It’s sort of… fixing them. Maybe that’s the wrong word. Curing.”

Dean looked at Kevin, then Sam, then Kevin again like they’d just announced they were getting married. And he was a bridesmaid. “Come again?”

“Yeah. A purification type thing.”

“And we what with the what, now?” the Hunter asked.

“I haven’t got the ‘how’ yet, just the ‘what’.” More coffee. “I’m not sure if it’s in here or not.”

“Well… that settles it. Me and Cas will go find the writey-dude, and Kevin you’ll stick with that tablet just in case, and Sam? You research ways to cure a demon.”

Sam could see Dean wasn’t going to budge, so he shrugged. “Sure. Fine. But only because I’m probably more use here, no other reason.”

“Awesome. I’ll get on the Bat Phone.”

***

“Hey, Cas, I--” 

Before Dean could finish his greeting, the angel had his hand on his shoulder and they were gone in a flap somewhere else. Dean blinked around at the - what? Why were they in Central Park?

“Dude. I told you. Keep zapping me around it really backs a guy up. It’s totally not cool.”

“I apologise, Dean, but in order to keep us both safe, I must keep moving us. It is the only way to keep from being tracked down by Heaven. Naomi is very… resourceful.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that. What with how she was…” a finger twirled around his temple. “Messing with you. Did you… did you even know?”

“No. I…” The angel looked embarrassed, his eyes lowering. “I did not know she was… interfering with me. I would… find myself in strange places, in strange moods, but I could not account for it. It was… distressing. I must apologise for anything I did whilst under her influence, though I suppose you will say it appeared no different from my previous behaviour.”

“I guess here we were all worried what Crowley was doing to you, and then your own people were dicking you about yet again. Man, Cas, your brothers and sisters are assholes.”

He offered a weak smile in return at that. “Some of them, it is true. Although I believe she thinks - as they often do - that she is trying to do what is ‘right’. Everyone does what they think is ‘right’, if they care at all.”

“So I called you to ask you if you wanna go on a trip with me.”

“Yes, you said as much in your message. It was very cryptic, Dean. And you must know I cannot take a ‘vacation’ right now. There are more important things to consider.”

“Yeah, like Heaven and Hell. I know, I get ya. But, see, Sammy found this thing graffitied into an ancient Indian - uh - Native American rock. Says it’s Metatron’s name. Seems like from the lore they were in cahoots together. He thought maybe Metatron was still with them… you know, in hiding or some shit.”

“I see. And you want me to come with you because…?”

“Because he’s an angel, you’re an angel. Maybe you can get some info from him. I dunno. Help out. Sammy’s… Sammy’s not doing so good. These demon things are taking it out on him, alright? I’m worried ‘bout him. And if we can get the whole tablet thing and Heaven and Hell sorted… we can all relax, right?”

“It has come to my attention that the periods of relaxation between plans for the Apocalypse or the latest big problem are few and far between… but I would like to go home, it is true.” Pause. “Have you spoken to Crowley about this?”

“About Metatron? Nope. He’s been helping with the trials, though.”

“Yes, he told me. A hellhound and you rescued Henry’s soul. I am pleased. Henry was a good person, he did not deserve what Abaddon would do to him as revenge.”

“...so you gonna come?”

“I--”

“Cas, c’mon. Sam thinks the guy who did all the writing gotta remember some of it. Kevin’s good, but it’s wearing him out. And the sooner we get that shit youre hiding destroyed, or hidden, or whatever… the better.”

“Alright. I will come. Where did you say we had to go?”

“Colorado.”

“We should go at once. We have already been here much too long, and I risk being discovered.”

“...fine. Beam me up, Cas.”

“I don’t understand--”

“Dude, it just means ‘let’s go’. So c’mon. Let’s go.”


	82. Chapter 82

Crowley drummed his fingers over his desk, staring down at the phone. On a trip with Dean, Cas had said. Speaking to the Voice of God, the Scribe. The one who wrote the tablets down in the first place. Try to track him down, get more information. Sounded fine on the surface. Sounded like a Sam sort of a plan, if he was honest. It had Moose-tracks all over it.

He wasn’t sure if part of Cas’ phone call had been asking for permission, because for all it had been a ‘hello, this is what I am doing’ type of call, there had been an undertone of wanting his opinion on it, decided or not. Crowley could probably have objected and Cas would have listen to it, but the demon hadn’t been wholly convinced one way or another. 

On the one hand: Dean. Dean who only ever called when he wanted something, who seemed to see Cas as his own personal Colt or angel blade, who had so many issues that Crowley didn’t know where to begin unravelling them… but then the plan? Sounded good on the surface. And it certainly would be nice if it worked and Cas could come home. A few texts and calls here and there really were no substitute for his angel in his arms. Even just to _cuddle_. He was getting antsy without him, but at least he knew it was only a momentary separation and not a permanent one. 

So he’d smiled and said ‘good job’, and ‘have fun on your road trip with the alcoholic’, and ‘send me a postcard from Colorado’ and that had been that. He was only a little jealous that Cas would be spending time with Dean, but he could see the bigger picture… and it was more than he worried Dean would not put his angel first, or take adequate care of him. Still. They’d said they didn’t want his help right now, so… here he was, waiting for Cecily. She was due any--

“Ah, Cecily. Please do join me.”

“Thanks, boss.” She walked delicately over to the chair facing his desk, and perched on it.

“First things first: how are you and Scotius?”

“Oh, great, thanks! He’s totally--”

“Wrapped around your finger?” he suggested.

The younger demon stifled a giggle and nodded. “You know me too well, my King.”

“Of course I do, it’s my job. It’s why I’m the King, and why you put him on my seat when I was gone. It _was_ you who engineered that, wasn’t it? You’re smart as a button.”

She was blushing now, squirming under his attention. Of course it was just professional regard, because he was clearly obsessed with the pretty angel, and she would never be able to compete with _that_ , but still… still it was nice to know the leader of all demons was interested in her enough to realise she was clever, and pick apart her relationships and… damn this crush was not getting any easier.

“Guilty as charged.”

“Is he enjoying the island?”

“Oh, is he! It’s very nice, too. I mean, it’s not what I’d choose for myself, but it’s nice to go visit. When I’m not working, I mean.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. I enjoy that kind of place as a temporary thing, a break, but I could not retire somewhere like that long term. I’d get bored.” 

“Sooo, what did you call me here for? I assume it wasn’t just to talk about sunscreen and Sex On The Beaches…”

“What you get up to in your own free time…”

Cecily’s eyes went wide. “I totes walked into that, didn’t I? Oopsie.”

“Well, it’s true I’ve called you here for business reasons. But I want this to stay strictly between you and me, the _utmost_ level of discretion.”

She leaned forwards, ears pricking up. “Sounds important.”

“ _The_ most important thing right now. The Winchesters have been working on some spell to kill Abaddon, using the demon tablet the Prophet is translating. Step one was to kill a Hellhound. Step two was to release a soul from Hell up to Heaven.”

“I see. There’s usually three stages to things, isn’t there? Well. Three, five, seven, nine…”

“Magical numbers, yes. They’ve said there’s one more and they are working on it, but… I just wanted you to look into it. See if there’s any mention of similar spells. Also the rumour-mill said that the archangels slaughtered all the Knights. I want to see if you can find out how. But… on the down-low. I don’t want anyone else knowing you’re looking into it. _Especially_ the brothers and Abaddon, but by proxy anyone who might inform on you.”

“I got it. You can rely on me, boss. I am the model of discretion.”

“I know you are, sweetheart.” 

“Well. Unless you need anything else?”

“For the time being, that’s all.”

“Alright! I’ll be right on it. I won’t let you down!”

“Just have a Sex On The Beach for me next time you’re on that island, will you?”

She could have slapped him for that, but instead she laughed nervously and backed out of his office to get onto the newest task.

***

Castiel was sitting on one of the beds, fidgeting. He wasn’t used to sitting in one place for long. Not any more. The burning feeling of _must keep this safe_ was overwhelming. It reminded Cas of when he had felt the same way about Sam and Dean… well, not that he didn’t always feel that way… 

“Regular tourist Mecca we got here,” Dean said, as he entered the little room they’d booked. Cas had again insisted he didn’t need a bed, but Dean pointed out if they asked for only one, then the manager would get the wrong idea about them, so this had been a compromise. “We're the only guests in this whole place. Last entry in the registry was in '06.”

“You know when you and Sam averted the Apocalypse?” he shook his head, looking down at the floor with a smile. “I was so terrified of my brothers… but I managed to set him on fire with holy oil.” The angel chuckled. “It was terrifying…” Cas wasn’t sure where that came from. He just… felt the need to say it.

“Uhm. Yeah. I remember that. It was… it was pretty… whack. Lucifer and Michael and all.” A little smile. “You called them ‘assbutts’. I mean, seriously, man? How long have you been watching humans, or around me and Sammy, and you can’t even call someone a dick?”

“Hey, at least I stood up to them!” The angel laughed. “I don’t think anyone ever stood up to them before…” Cas sighed. A small frown as he was thinking about Crowley yet again and how much he missed him. “You know Crowley tracked me down… in Perth. I was in a garden. He was so sweet and kind. It was when I was messed up, my head… he returned my coat to me. He had it cleaned for me and held it onto it the whole time. I miss him, Dean. Sadly, I have to keep moving frequently.” 

The angel looked over at the television and smiled. ‘Girls’ was on. Castiel smiled. “We used to watch this show. We ate cookies and had milk. I was never quite as involved in the drama as he was, but I enjoyed spending time with him…”

“You…” Dean’s face was blank. Completely blank slate. Utterly. “Milk and cookies. Dude. The Hell did you do to him? He’s the King of freaking **Hell** , Cas. He ain’t supposed to… you know what? I don’t think I want to know.”

A pause. “...‘Girls’? Is he, like, every stereotype about a gay dude known to man? Does he also like show tunes and lycra and makeup and, uh… whatever else gay dudes like? I mean… that is all _so_ fucked, Cas.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing. “I’m not entirely sure what you mean. We do watch films where there was singing… I do not believe he cares for makeup.” Another frown. “We need to get this done and over with so I can return to him. I miss him, Dean.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that vibe. Just a lil.” Dean tugged at his collar, feeling uncomfortable. “How about I promise not to diss him, and you promise not to talk about him either, and we just… pretend he doesn’t exist? I mean. Just when we’re talking. That… sound okay?”

_Pretend he doesn’t exist_? Not an option. “Dean, I cannot pretend that he does not exist. But if you do not wish to hear about him, I will not share my thoughts. I apologise if I have made you uncomfortable… it was not my intention.”

“I just… dude. Don’t get all pissy about it. I didn’t mean forget he existed, I just meant… we don’t agree, and if we talk about him, you’re gonna get mad, and I’m gonna get mad, and I don’t wanna be. Mad. You know… we used to be friends. Before _he_ got his claws in you. I remember when it was just you, me, Sam and Bobby. When you’d just come by and talk. You remember that, don’t you? Wasn’t it… weren’t we **friends**?”

“Of course I remember, Dean. I still consider you and Sam my friends… I always have. Do you not… do you not consider me a friend?”

“...‘course I do, Cas. It’s just that… you ain’t been coming round, since you and Crowley… Nah. Forget it.”

Castiel’s face fell. He hadn’t meant to make Sam and Dean feel like he had pushed them away, he just… he just really loved spending time with Crowley. “I’m sorry, Dean. Once everything settles down, I’ll try to come by more often. I never meant to make you or Sam feel bad.”

“Seriously, forget it. It’s always the same when a dude finds a chi-- uh. A partner. You know. It’s all ‘yeah, we’ll still all hang out’, but then before you know it they’re freaking married and off doing couple things and they don’t even seem to _like_ bars and beers anymore, so… you call Prince Charming. I'm gonna go check out the ‘Two Rivers Tribal Museum and Trading Post’...”

The angel’s eyes narrowed more. “But I never liked bars… or beer… I-- Dean, are you angry with me?”

“Angry?” he shrugged, already halfway to the door. “No. I guess just… no, Cas. I guess I’m just disappointed. But it’s okay. You gotta do what you gotta do, I guess.”

“Disappointed?” Cas said, standing. He couldn’t possibly mean he was disappointed in Castiel. Not after everything the angel had done, everything he had given up for him and his brother.

“Yeah. You were s’posed to have our backs, man. You were s’posed to work with us to save the world. But you ended up nearly breaking it, then you went loco, then you went and vanished… and when you came back? Alright, the weird Naomi shit ain’t your fault, but… you know? You live for you. Good for you. Just don’t expect everyone to be happy for you, when you suddenly forget that _demons_ are _bad_.”

“Demons might be bad, yes… but Crowley is _not_ like other demons, Dean. I wish you could see that.” Cas shook his head again. “Did you need me to come with you to check out the Trading Post?”

“...maybe you should just… whatever. Come. Stay. Let’s just not talk about him again, alright?”

Castiel nodded. “I will accompany you, then.”

“Awesome.”


	83. Chapter 83

“Wow,” Sam said, taking a brief, but well-earned break. “The Men of Letters kept files on every demonic possession for the last three hundred years, I mean, we've got Borden, Lizzy... all the way to Crane, Ichabod.” It was exhaustive, and exhausting.

Kevin looked at Sam as he spoke, noticing the Hunter was looking less than well these days. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly, um... my - uh - my whole body hurts. I feel nauseous and like I'm starving at the same time, and everything smells like rotting meat.” He made a face, because even _speaking_ about food - rotten or not - was enough to make him want to hurl. A lot. Exorcist-style hurling. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation in the slightest.

Kevin nodded. “I know how you feel… maybe you should take a break? Step outside for a few minutes, get some fresh air… might help?”

“...thanks, Kevin, but I think the only thing that's gonna make me feel better is finishing this.” Not just because he’d get the sense of accomplishment, either. Not just because it would make it all worth the effort and pain. He was fairly sure when it was done… when it was finished, he would feel so freaking good. Yep. Had to hold onto that thought. 

“I know **that** feeling, too.” Kevin frowned, looking down at the seemingly thousands of papers scattered around the table. “Is there anything that doesn’t make you feel like you’re gonna puke? Toast, maybe? Don’t forget to eat. You’ll only feel worse… _trust me_.”

“I’m alright, seriously, but thanks. I mean it. I might… I might try something later. Maybe soup.” Stop thinking about food. Stop thinking about food. Stop thinking about… “How is your research doing?”

“It’s okay, I guess. Slow going, as usual. Uh. You want a laugh? Might make you feel a bit better.”

“Sure. Go on.”

“Well… I spent an age working out this passage - another note from Metatron - and it says: ‘ _He did realise that He was getting an angel to write down all the angels’ weaknesses, does He not?_ ’ Uh, sorry… it sort of comes out all formal. I could edit it but I just… yeah I take it as I get it. Right. So. ‘ _Why does He feel the need to write down the list of our weaknesses? Why did He give them to us in the first place? Why would you create a race of servants and soldiers, and then write a manual detailing how to break them? And make one of us write it down? Is this all some sort of power game? I cannot tell if He is just very strange, or He does not like me. I am just a scribe, of course, just a lowly ear and hand, but that does not mean He should smile at me like he does when He tells me all the ways I can be killed, or broken. And if it truly is so easy, why doesn’t He just let Michael or Raphael or Gabriel kill Lucifer? Does He still love him more than the rest of us? Oh, I need to go back to dictation, because He apparently thinks I daydream too much and do not write it down when he tells me how to make another scribe, as if somehow discussing my replacement will…_ ’ And that’s as far as I got.”

“...wow. That guy sounds fun.”

“Yeah… it’s really not helpful, but it was a bit entertaining… I just wish I could get to the how-to part about curing demons…” 

“Yeah, too much to hope that it came with a proper glossary or something, I guess.” Sam shrugged, then looked down at his notes again. “Hey, uh, do we have a room 7B?”

***

“The people of the Two Rivers tribe came to this land centuries ago,” the curator explained, in a voice that was atonal and showed that this was a spiel he’d learned by heart long ago and never varied from once. “A land that was harsh, and stony. But the mighty leader told his people that they must stay here. He claimed that this was the home on Earth of the great spirit's sacred messenger, and that if they'd make offerings, their blessings would be many.”

“What were the offerings?” Dean asked.

“Huh?”

The sudden slight change in the curator’s tone caused Castiel to look away from the various pictures and artifacts that he’d been so intently studying and tilted his head to the side. _Offerings_? Never a good thing, not in his experience anyway.

“Uh…” Okay, Dean had to be a bit more basic in his questions. Maybe the guy was just dumb. “What did the great spirit's sacred messenger ask for?”

“Stories. He asked the people to tell him stories.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at one of the photos. One of the men pictured looked identical to the hotel’s manager. “Dean.” The angel looked at the Hunter, then slowly back to the photo. 

Dean clocked the meaning at once. Yeah, totally not creepy at _all_ , this freaking Bates Motel. “I bet I know what the blessings were.”

“Prosperity,” the curator said, refusing to react to their implications.

“...you guys don’t get out much, do you?” the Hunter asked.

“Please, the tour is about our legacy, not our personal lives.”

“Yep. Sure. Carry on…”

***

“What exactly are we supposed to be looking for down here?” Kevin asked, carefully pushing a box slightly to the side to peek behind it. It was covered in layer upon layer of dust. He brushed his fingers off on his shirt and looked up at the Hunter.

“Um, anything on case 1138. It was a ‘Class Five Infernal Event: St. Louis, March 8, 1957’...”

The Prophet raised his eyebrows. "Class Five Infernal Event? Sounds serious…”

A nod, fingers still running over the old, yellowing titles. “Yeah. See, the Letters have this whole rating system. ‘The Exorcist’ would have been a Class Two.” Which meant a Five had to be some pretty serious shit. It did get him wondering what half of his and Dean’s adventures would be classified as. Maybe a hard Seven.

Kevin gave a heavy sigh. Holy shit. “Okay… so what makes this one so horrific?”

“It was weird.” Weird. For the Men of Letters. That was saying something, right?

“Weird how?” Kevin’s voice was almost shaky. If these guys found it weird… he probably didn’t wanna know.

“No clue,” Sam confessed. “One of the files just had a note written in the margin about room 7B and the word ‘weird’ with three exclamation points.” And considering the archivists were all about supreme levels of professionalism and dedication to the cause of paperwork… yeah. That had been a shock to the system. Seriously, they were worse than tort lawyers for pedantry.

“Cryptic… good times for the Men of Letters, huh?”

“I’d say so. I mean, they studied the supernatural, but they weren’t anything like Hunters. Not really the ‘get your hands dirty’ kind of people.”

Hmm. One of the sets of shelves looked… different. It was the joins around the edges, and the slight scuffing on the floor. Subtle, easily missed, but obvious to anyone who knew how to look. It was a hidden passage. “Here… what’s this?” Sam asked. He pushed the shelves back, and they opened into a small, dark and perfectly compact… dungeon? There was a Devil’s Trap on the floor, and the walls were lined with manacles and worse. “Uh. Scratch the ‘hands dirty’.”

“Now this _is_ a sex torture dungeon… for… demons?” Kevin suddenly felt much more uneasy than normal.

“...you do realise that Dean’s - uh - video ‘collection’ is not really a how-to guide? Like. One you should follow? ‘Cause I really don’t want to have to give you that talk. Especially with your mom living with us.” Sam shuddered. “Is that a Devil's Trap? It takes up half the room. These chains - they have spellwork etched into them.”

Pushing thoughts of sex torture aside, Kevin looked around. “Dude. This is like, a real dungeon. This is a real dungeon!” He glanced back towards the shelving, noticing what appeared to be a film canister. He opened it carefully with a grin and held it so Sam could see. “Hey, check it out!”

“Movie night?” Sam asked, immediately hoping it wasn’t a sex dungeon. Because he really did _not_ want to explain that to Mrs. Tran.

***

Once they set up the old film on the projector, it was surprisingly easy to set it ticking away over the wall. Somehow the celluloid hadn’t degraded, and neither had the projector. Sam supposed it was a minor miracle, a small amount of magical trickery, or else the Men of Letters had been rich enough to afford the _really_ good shit. First up on the footage was… Abaddon? Or, whoever Abaddon had possessed. Maybe it was just the human, now. Or maybe it was already too late.

“Simon, we're filming,” not-Abaddon said.

“Um, hello, world.” A priest was seen waving at the camera standing next to Abaddon’s meatsuit.

“So this new ritual we're going to see… this new type of exorcism. H-how does it work?” If it was Abaddon, it was doing a good job of feigning human awkwardness.

“I don't know… it's my first time.” Simon sounded just as curious as not-really-demon.

“...so, gotta ask ourselves: is that Abaddon?” Sam asked, frowning at the black and white image of the woman. In the background of the footage, a woman’s voice in low, upset tones could just be heard.

Kevin’s eyes widened. “ _The_ Abaddon? The one who wants to kill everyone? That’s her?”

“It looks like her, but… it’s not acting like her. Unless she’s faking it. I guess it's got to be the, uh, the chick she possessed.”

The whimpering turned into screaming, into grunting. Whoever the demon-possessed woman was, she was suffering. 

Kevin watched intently as the priest spoke. “Hurry. We must do it now.”

More screaming, that now resolved into snarled words. “Dead! They're all dead! Everyone you ever loved…”

Sam sat forwards in his chair. “Hey, those chains look exactly like the ones in our dungeon.” At least it didn’t seem to be the sexy-type use of them. It still seemed to be Men of Letters-y, and not Men of Fetters.

“I guess they work on demons then. Good to know. I mean. Anything in our favour, right?”

On the screen, the demon-possessed woman was still screaming and bawling. It was piercing. 

The two priests started the spell, chanting in unison. “ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus... hanc animam redintegra… **Lustra**_!”

The screen suddenly blanked out, and when the white flare vanished, the woman’s body dropped to the floor… minus her heart.

“...she’s dead.” That was Josie. She sounded genuinely affected. She looked at the two priests, who were spluttering. “Where’s the demon?”

“Stop filming,” Father Thompson insisted.

“What happened?”

“Will you just stop?!” the pastor snapped, and then the footage stopped. The projector clicked and whirred to a halt.

Kevin was still blinking in shock. “So. That’s a Class Five.”

Sam was frowning at the screen. “That wasn't a normal exorcism. They changed the words.”

“Yeah, I thought that was… what did it mean? Lustre? Shiny?”

The Hunter snorted. “No, it’s Latin, Kevin. I think - _think_ \- they said ‘lustra’. Which is - uh - about cleaning and stuff. Cleansing.”

“Curing.”

“Yeah. Curing.”

“Didn’t seem to work, though. I mean, I’m pretty sure the demon vanishing and the woman exploding sort of isn’t what the tablet has in mind? I mean. Correct me if you think I’m wrong.”

“No, Kevin, I think you’re right. That’s the last video, though. But… listen to this. The older priest, Max Thompson, bit the dust in '58, but the younger one is still alive and still in St. Louis.”

“But it didn’t work…”

“This one didn’t, but if the spell asks for a cure, it must _be_ possible. I mean. It wouldn’t be written down from God’s dictation otherwise, would it? And this Father Simon is the best lead we got right now. Maybe we can use his work and improve upon it.”

“Yeah. Cause anything gotta be better than chestsplat.”

***

Cas walked down the hallway, frowning at the world in general. It all felt… strange. Like the tablet buried deep in him sort of… resonated. He was not, by nature, a talkative being. But here? Here he felt sort of… compelled to it. Like he had when he’d been asking for guidance from God. When he hadn’t been sure if what he and Crowley were doing was right. The strange, aching need to _explain_ , to recount, to put his experiences into words.

He watched - silently - as the manager of the little motel piled a large stack of cardboard boxes in front of one of the rooms. He left them there, and Cas thought it was strange. A blip, and he was in front of them. After he squinted at them for a few moments to see if it was dangerous, or if it would spontaneously reveal its secrets like he felt he had to… he slipped a finger under one heavy flap, tugging it open to reveal the books upon books inside. Curious.

The angel went back to their shared room, where Dean was busy lacing his shoes. Such a tedious waste of time, human clothing these days. Didn’t they know their lives were finite?

“He's here, Dean,” Cas said. “Metatron is here.”

“...oh? Some funky angel thing, like that radio you got going?”

Cas shook his head. “Metatron has not spoken on the ‘radio’ in many hundreds of years. I do not recall ever hearing him.”

“Then how do you know he’s here? Is it like, angel-dar?”

“I am unsure what you are implying, Dean. I simply… feel that I know he is here. It is too much of a coincidence that the old photographs look like people do now, that there are books all around, that the tabl-- that I feel the need to speak. As if somehow committing my reality to words was imperative. Perhaps if I say things in the right way, it will make you understand? As if the art of presenting my experiences to you might convince you of their validity.”

“This is a Crowley thing again isn’t it?”

“Not everything revolves around him, but you are correct in assuming he plays a large part in my thoughts. I have found someone I wish to spend eternity with, Dean. I would have hoped someone who calls me friend - family - someone who has been to Hell and back and whose brother and father have done likewise might be prepared to--”

“Okay, okay. _Stop_. No amount of you babbling on is gonna change my mind, Cas.”

“ _What we did was no worse than--_ ”

“Stop. **Stop**. Focus, Cas. The sooner we find Metatron and get Heaven all off your case, the sooner you can go home and watch chick flicks with your deviant boyfriend.”

“Books, Dean. Books.”

“Yeah, you said. And it’s important why?”

“ **Books**. Many of them. All delivered to one place. More than any one person could need unless they did nothing but read. Endless strings of words, Dean.”

Much like the seraph seemed to be, now. Endless flows of things Dean did not want to hear. “Right. Stories. I get it.”

Cas huffed at him. “Metatron’s job was to write things down, Dean. Like stories. For God.”

“Like Chuck?”

“...a little like Chuck, but with less of a popular appeal. Does it not stand to reason that he would find stories compelling?”

“...where did you say you saw these books?”

Cas put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and in a blink they were… outside a door. “Here. They were here, Dean.”

“I believe you, Cas. Let’s just…” The Hunter pushed the door open. It swang in without resistance, and opened up to reveal a room with what must be several thousand books. Hardbacks, paperbacks, multi-volume, vellum-bound series… Dean’s eyebrows raised. Sure was a lot of books. “Never heard of a Kindle, I guess.”

But then as he stepped in, he came face to face with a short, curly-haired man. A man currently levelling a rifle, pointed straight at his chest. Damn. Looked like they’d found him.

***

It seemed as though the King of Hell was going to pose a bit more of a problem than she had initially thought. Crowley was no ordinary demon, that much was obvious. She would need forces, and a lot of them. With the little bitch, Meg, out of the way - helpful as she was for the time she had her - her Hellhounds were fair game. Not that _fair game_ mattered to Abaddon…

She stood just behind a hound ready to collect, the woman cowering on the floor in the corner staring at her, shaking.

“Wh-- who are you?” she stammered.

“I’m your worst nightmare, Joelle,” she cooed with a sugary sweet smile on her red lips. “Well… this Hellhound aside, of course. She’s ready to tear into that pretty flesh of yours, you know?”

Joelle said nothing, only tried to push herself farther back into the corner. 

The hound growled and snarled as Abaddon raised an eyebrow at the woman, reaching down to take her chin between her thumb and forefinger. “I’m going to offer you another deal, dollface. I won’t let Daisy here tear you into pretty little shreds if you agree to let me take your soul instead of the crossroads demon that will be here in… oh… ten minutes or so to put your soul through an eternity in Hell.”

“Why would you do that?” 

Abaddon tilted her head, looking closely at Joelle. “Because a human soul is powerful. Makes you feel all kinds of feels. It’s very powerful, too. But without it, you become a demon. One of mine. You do my bidding, I spare you from a thousand lifetimes of torture and pain. Do we have a deal?”

“I-- I don’t know… I…”

“It’s really very simple, sweetheart. You work for me, or you spend eternity being tortured by things you can’t even begin to imagine in damnation?”

“...okay. I’ll do it.”

“Good girl.” Abaddon grinned from ear to ear as she shoved her hand deep inside Joelle’s chest, grabbing her soul tight. She ripped it from her body, just as she had done with Henry. 

Joelle howled in pain, unable to form words of protest. The Knight let the girl fall the short distance to the floor, shoving the soul into a jar. She stood up and gave Joelle a swift kick in the ribs.

Joelle grimaced, clutching at her side as she sat up. “The Hell was that for?”

Abaddon grabbed her by her neck, pulling her the rest of the way up and letting her toes dangle just above the floor. “Rule number one. Do not. Question. The Queen. Are we clear?”

“Y--yes…”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Abaddon smiled, dropping Joelle from her grasp. “Very good. Now come, we have work to do.”


	84. Chapter 84

“You sure you’re up for this?” Sam asked.

“You sure _you_ are?” Kevin countered.

That made the Hunter laugh. “Okay. You got me. Yeah… I don’t feel great, but I kinda… need to see this through, you know.”

They didn’t get as far as the garage, though, because there was Linda with her hands on her hips. “And what do you two think you’re doing?”

“Mom, it’s a field trip. We think maybe this old Man of Letters can--”

“Kevin. You have barely slept in weeks. And you Sam? You look like you’ve developed a habit for methamphetamines.”

“I swear I haven’t, Mrs. Tran…”

“ _Linda_ , Sam. My name is Linda. How old are you?”

Apparently not old enough to avoid cringing around Mom Mode. “Sorry M-- Linda.”

“Well. Neither of you are in a fit state to drive. Frankly you should probably both be in bed, but I know you’re not going to listen to reason. So if you must go? I’m driving.”

“But, Mom--”

“Don’t ‘but Mom’ me, young man. I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. And I’m not going to cramp your style, I’m just making sure you don’t do anything silly. If Dean was here then it would be fine, but as it is, it’s the blind leading the deaf.”

“ **MOM.** ”

“Come on. If what you said about the - person the demon possessed - is true, then it’s possible she will think to see him, too? We don’t have any time to lose.”

As Tiger Mommy turned on her heel, Sam just gave an apologetic shrug of his shoulders. You just did not stand up against Linda. Ever.

***

“Y’know, it’s kinda weird,” Cecily said, pen tapping against her teeth. Her train of thought seemed to derail, because she was just spaced out staring at her legal pad full of notes.

“You’re going to have to illuminate me, sweetheart. There is plenty that is ‘kind of weird’ in this world.”

“Oopsie.” An apologetic quirk of the lips. “I mean… all the rumour mill will say is the archangels took down the Knights. But it doesn’t say when, or how, or which, or why. I mean - I would guess it was Michael, or at a pinch Raphael. Luci sure as Hell wouldn’t kill his own faves. Not if they were still useful. And Gabriel was totes off doing his Yellow Period.”

“Michael sounds more likely, considering his rivalry with Lucifer, I agree. But do the archangels - with the exception of Lucifer - blow their own trumpet all that much?”

“You mean _Gabe_ ,” she winked. “Yep. They totes do. The whole Mary thing? Bam. They’re pretty much attention whores, all four of ‘em. So… why no talk about a big slam-down? And then there’s Cain.”

“Cain as in ‘and Abel’? The first demon?”

Cecily nodded. “Yeppers. Him. He was all fire and brimstone until… one day… he just sort of. Wasn’t. I can’t find anything about him dying, but I guess that’s not too much of a surprise. He sort of vanished at the same time the Knights did. ‘Cept, of course, Abaddon.”

“Interesting. You think it’s more than a coincidence.”

“Damn skippy I do, boss. But I haven’t been able - no pun intended! - to find him yet.”

Bloody Cecily with her puns. She probably thought that was hilarious. And it was not because he wished he’d said it first. Nope. 

“Well… keep it quiet. I know Cain trained the Knights - or so the story goes, and I have no reason to doubt _that_ was true… so if he’s still around, he’s possibly inclined in their favour. And powerful. Damned powerful.”

“Gotcha. Okies. I better get back to work then.”

“Send my regards to AJ.”

“Oh I so will!”

“And don’t think I didn’t click on the name.”

“I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about, boss!”

“Course you don’t. Well. Carry on.”

Damnit, she thought. Rumbled in her pet-naming. It was a perfectly good name for a kitten. No hidden meaning. Nope. No, Sir. Oh… who was she kidding. She was sure Crowley was laughing at her as she left. Bastard. 

***

“You know she’s only looking out for you, right?”

Kevin nodded, glumly. Of course he did. He loved his mom to bits, but it was a bit… he was supposed to be moving on, right now. Finding his way in the world. Getting great scores, hanging out with kids his own age, spending time with Channing… not… skulking around some church with a guy twice his age and his mom in the car only held back with ‘we’ll speed pocket-dial you if we need you’.

“Your dad ever like that? I mean, making up for being the only parent?”

“You kidding? Dad was trying to shove us into the firing squad as soon as we could walk. He… he just wanted to toughen us up for the real world, I guess, but it was…”

“Difficult because you wanted some time to just be kids?”

Sam nodded. “Dean was better at it. I guess ‘cause he was older. But he just… it just worked for him. Like he was born to do it.”

“It sure makes him happy.”

“Dean loves to help people. He just…”

“Is that why you wanted to do the trials instead of him? You felt bad because he’s always looking out for people?”

“Kinda. Look… a lot of bad crap happened to us both, over the years. Demons. Lucifer himself. It’s not been… easy on either of us. And I just… I kind of need to…” Sam didn’t really know what, just that he did.

“You can’t blame yourself for the stuff that happened when you weren’t you, you know.”

“Really? It was still… me. What if that’s who I am, underneath it all?”

“Hey, I know next to jack shit about souls and good and evil and all, but Sam? You’re one of the nicest people I’ve met. Even considering your vocation. Just… quit being so hard on yourself. Both of you. Dean’s just as bad as you.”

“ _Now_ who’s the mommy?”

“Ugh… don’t even make that joke, Sam. She’s _right there_.”

Sam laughed. “Okay. Okay. Let’s go and see Father Simon.”

He’d aged a lot in the intervening years, but he was somehow still recognisable from the black and white home movie ‘exorcism’. 

“Father Simon,” Sam said, greeting him as respectfully as he could. “We spoke on the phone.”

“Right… right. You’ll forgive me if I…?” A nod to a small vial of what must be holy water. 

Sam shook his head, and then Kevin followed suit. A small amount splashed on each of them, and then Sam returned the favour with his own bottle. 

“Never be too sure,” he pointed out. After all, a fake holy water test would be just ideal to convince someone. 

“No, I agree wholeheartedly. If you’d like to follow me?”

In they went, to the small parish church. 

“Father Thompson had some unorthodox ideas, which is why the Men of Letters were interested,” the pastor explained as they walked.

“We guessed as much from their archives,” Sam agreed. 

“He thought… well. He thought they could be…” a glance around. “Saved.”

“What do you mean by that? I mean, how do you save a demon?” Kevin asked.

“A demon is a human soul, twisted and corrupted by its time in Hell,” the priest explained calmly. “Father Thompson believed that you could wash that taint away and restore their humanity.”

That made more questions than answers, really. Sam frowned, trying to work through the logic. “But what happens then? I mean… when you save them? Do they stop being a demon? Because they’re a broken soul stuck in an unwilling body. Wouldn’t there be one too many people in the - uh - meatsuit? Do they just claim squatters rights, or do they go up to Heaven, or…?”

“I wish I knew.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… it didn’t work. What Father Thompson was trying. It didn’t work, so I don’t know what would happen to the stolen body, nor the demon residing in it. If it was even possible to begin with. It does raise theological dilemmas about the soul, but sadly I cannot resolve them for you.”

“Okay, but this - this ritual... Can cure a demon? If done right, I mean.” Sam was not giving up so easily.

“I suppose, if it worked…” he agreed. “But that night, something went terribly wrong. The demon escaped into the world, and that poor old woman... it was horrible. I know father Thompson kept trying. There were other possessions, experiments, but I couldn't face that - not again. And then, a few months later... he was dead.”

“Dead? I’m guessing it wasn’t natural causes.” Kevin did not like the sound of that.

“Something tore him apart,” the Father said.

“Did he keep any, uh--” Sam tried to stifle a cough. “Did he keep records or--” Damn frog in his throat. “...uh, do you have a - a bathroom, maybe?”

Father Simon pointed in the direction of the conveniences, nodding at the mumbled thanks. When Sam was gone he turned to the younger man. “...is he alright?”

“He… he’s not doing so well.”

“Has he seen a doctor?”

“It’s… it’s not something a doctor could fix.”

“Why are you here? Why are you asking about the Father’s work?”

“...we need it. We need it for a spell. It’s gonna save a lot of people, if we can do it. Not just one demon, I mean… everyone. Or. A lot of them.”

“I see.”

“So if you could help us, we’d really appreciate it.”

“I’ll give you everything I have.”

“Awesome! You have _no_ idea how important it is.”

“I think you’re right. If what happened back then can be used for good... then I can’t stand in the way. Just… be careful. It ripped him apart. Tore him into pieces. I don’t want to see that happen to you two boys, too.”

Kevin felt pale at the thought. “No. We’ll do our best not to get ripped apart.”

Father Simon put a hand on his shoulder, reassuringly. “You have a good heart. Come. I’ll show you where I kept his notes…”

***

“Who're you?”

“Metatron? This is Metatron?” He turned to Cas. “This is Metatron?” He didn’t look like your typical angelic vessel. Didn’t they normally stop by the catwalk or the track to pick up some buff or trim piece of ass? Who the Hell picked a short, weird-looking old dude? Maybe Cas was mistaken.

The man vanished, reappearing between them and the door. Definitely an angel then.

“This is Metatron,” Cas confirmed. “I did not know him in Heaven, but…”

“Who sent you?” Metatron asked, gesturing with the gun. “C-Castiel? Who is this?”

“Hey, feathers, you can talk to me, you know. Dean Winchester’s the name.”

“You work for Michael? Or Lucifer?”

“Uhm, what kind of rock you been under? Seriously, dude. I’m surprised there’s an angel around doesn’t know me and my brother _stopped_ Michael and Lucifer. Done. Dusted. In the deep fryer. Forever, if I have my way.”

“He is correct,” Castiel pointed out. “He and Sam did avert the Apocalypse. No one sent us. We came on our own.”

“What about Gabriel? And Raphael?”

“...dead,” Cas answered. One at his hand, one at Lucifer’s. He looked… sad. 

“You really don't know this?” Dean was incredulous.

“I've been very careful,” the other angel said, frowning at Cas. “Unlike you. What were you thinking, bringing it here?”

The Hunter narrowed his green eyes. “Bringing what here?” 

“I had nowhere else to put it that was safe, Dean. I have to ensure the tablet is protected at all times.”

“...so you brought it on a trip?”

Cas nodded. 

“It’s why you’ve been feeling strange, Castiel. You’ve got the Word of God inside of you. And you bring it close to me? Geez. No wonder you look constipated in that vessel.”

“Back up a second, beardy.” Dean nodded at the gun, waiting until Metatron lowered the barrel. “You said you were being careful. Careful how?”

“I'm not one of them. I'm not an archangel. Really more run-of-the-mill. I worked in the secretarial pool before God chose me to take down the Word. Anyway, He... seemed very worried about His work, what would happen to it when He left, so He had me write down instructions. Then... He was gone. After that, the archangels took over.”

This bit was familiar to them, more or less. Michael and Raphael, with Gabriel and Lucifer missing. Dean nodded for him to continue, and Metatron pulled up a chair to sit down. He still had the gun ready, though.

“...and they cried, and they wailed. They wanted their father back. I mean, we all did. But then... then they started to scheme. The archangels decided if they couldn't have Dad, they'd take over the universe themselves. But they couldn't do anything that big without the Word of God. So I began to realise, maybe they would realise... they needed me.”

“So you get a ruffle in your feathers and just decide to disappear? Go stick your head in the sand, forever? You have no idea what's been going on out there.” Dean was trying very hard to keep the anger from his voice. After all, maybe there was stuff on those tablets that could have actually prevented so many attempted Apocalypse plans. Maybe people like Bobby might still be alive.

“Nope,” the angel agreed. “That's the whole point.”

“...so you have been holed up here, or - or - or in a wigwam, or before that in some cave, listening to stories, reading books?”

Cas wanted to say something, but he found he just… couldn’t. After so long compelled to talk, now? Now he felt struck dumb. He was not sure what he expected of the Voice, but it was not this. Perhaps he should have. After all, most of his brothers and sisters had hardly been good role models.

As it was, this angel was grinning widely, looking pleased with himself. “And it was _something_ to watch. What you brought to His Earth, all the mayhem, the murder. Just the raw, wild invention of God's naked apes... it was mind-blowing. But really... really, it was your storytelling. That is the true flower of free will. At least as you've mastered it so far. When you create stories, you become gods of tiny, intricate dimensions unto themselves. So many worlds! I have read... as much as it's possible for an angel to read, and I haven't caught up.”

The seraph just stared. Really? **Really**? An angel who had been in God’s presence, who had known His will and His **Word** , and this was what it came to? “You have left Heaven to its own device, bereft of His guidance. You could have helped, Metatron.”

“Hey, now… when I left the archangels were still around. You think anyone would listen to little old me?”

“You heard His **voice**.”

“Yeah, and I wrote it all down, too. Left it for someone to find. Which - judging by you both being here - not only did you find it, but a Prophet, too. But it’s not my problem. What Heaven got up to? Well. That was their prerogative.”

“Hey. Hey! Dick,” Dean growled. “You want a story? Try Kevin Tran's story: He was just a kid. He was a good, straight-A kid, and then he got sucked in to all of this - this angel crap. He became a Prophet, of the Word of God. Your Prophet. Now, you should've been looking out for him, but no! Instead, you're here, holed up, reading books.”

“It’s not protocol for--”

Dean didn’t let him stop. “Protocol be damned! We got Abaddon trying to take over Hell - demons running round like wolves in a pen of sheep… we got angels dicking with angels, trying to torture one another, trying to kill us over some stupid-ass scrap of whatever you’ve done… and you just… what? Sat reading Harry freaking Potter?”

“...and what do you expect me to do in the face of a Knight of Hell, or my other siblings?”

“Maybe grow a pair? Help us out? Tell us if there’s anything on the angel tablet worth knowing? Tell us - uh - how to complete the last trial on the demon tablet?”

“You really intend on--”

Dean didn’t want the angel to say _what_ , so he hurriedly spoke over him. “Seems like the thing to do, don't it?”

He shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the rude behaviour. “It's your choice. And that's what this has all been about, the choices your kind make. But you're gonna have to weigh that choice. Ask yourself: what is it going to take to do this, and what will the world be like after it's done?”

“Well. Kinda has to be better than the one we got, right if we can get rid of Abaddon. If you know how to do the last step.”

“How? No. What? Yes. Afraid He didn’t always go into the detail required. Very wandering attention span, God.”

“What about the angel tablet?” Cas asked. “Naomi has… Naomi has been trying anything to get it from me. I do not trust her with it. Not after… what she did to me.”

“Now _that_ might be something worth talking about,” Metatron said. “Dean… tell me what bits of the demon tablet you still need, and I’ll tell you what they say. But the angel tablet? I think Castiel and I need to see to that.”

“Right. Great. So…. what? Should I call you, or…?”

Metatron shook his head. “I’ll come back with you, see the Prophet, and then Castiel and I will have a little chat. If I’m coming out of retirement, then I’m doing it in style.” A hand clapped to the seraph’s shoulder. “Let’s fix Heaven, brother.”


	85. Chapter 85

“Oh, hey, Dean.” Sam tilted his head at what must be Metatron. His head… it sort of… it was…

“I see you already started the trials,” Metatron said. “You’re practically vibrating with it. Already did the first two steps, not just translated them?”

“Uhm. Yeah. Sam, by the way.”

“Yes, your brother told me. And this must be Kevin. And… Tran the Elder?”

“You’re the one who gave my son migraines.” Linda tutted at him in distaste.

“Well. I think you should blame God for that, in all honesty.” Metatron smiled, but a smile that never touched his eyes, just his lips. “Can I have your notes, see how far you’ve gotten?” 

“Uhm, sure,” Kevin said, looking to Dean to make sure it was alright.

“Leave these notes with me, I will wire over the rest when I’ve finished with Heaven,” the angel said. “You did good, not too many errors. I’m impressed.” Then he turned to his brother. “Right. Castiel… shall we?” 

The two angels vanished in a flutter of wings.

“Same old Cas, huh,” Sam said, shaking his head.

“Yep. Kind of a relief him being back to something like normal. But at least maybe this way he’ll sort out that Naomi crap, and leave us to, uh…”

“Conspire without him finding out?” Sam finished.

“Yeah. So. How did your field trip go?”

“Kevin managed to crack the priest, you know.”

“He did? Way to go Kevin!”

“Hey, guys, I’m not a kid, remember…”

“No, he really isn’t,” Linda agreed. “So I think we should all review the results together.”

Dean looked at Sam in a ‘for real, is she pulling the Mom thing on us?’ way, but Sam was already moving on to his hard-won research. 

“So get this: Father Thompson was rigorous in his methods - which is great for us. He recorded all of his cure tests, and the last one? Two days before he died.” Sam glanced over to Linda. “You sure you… okay watching this? Both of you? I mean… it could get pretty graphic.”

“Oh please. I’m nowhere near as boring as you seem to think I am… put the damn thing on, Sam.”

“Whatever you say, Linda.”

The four settled down to watch the old film reel play. 

On the screen, Father Thompson addressed the camera. “The date is August 3, 1958. This is trial nineteen, hour one. My subject is Peter Kent. Mr. Kent is the father of two young sons, and three weeks ago he was possessed by a demon. I'm going to ask you a question now: When you crawled into Mr. Kent and ate his children, how did it feel?”

The demon inside of Peter Kent looked smug. “ _Orgasmic_....” He snarled, and then groaned when the priest pushed something into him with a hypodermic.

“The first dose has been administered,” the priest said for the camera again

“Wait,” Dean cut in. “Do we know what padre was dosing number-one dad up with?”

Sam squirmed, but. “Uh, yeah... his own purified blood.”

“How do you purify blood?” Linda asked.

“Before he started, Father Thompson went to confession.” Sam was trying to memorise all of this, because he knew he was going to have to replicate it. Down to the smallest detail, if it turned out on the video to have worked for Father Thompson. It sort of… it was good. To know there might be a way to finish this. Sam really did feel like Hell, but he knew it was all for a good cause.

The video cut out, and resumed. “This is trial nineteen, hour two.”

The demon was still snarling angrily, fighting against the chains that held him securely to the chair. 

“When you ate his children,” the priest asked, “...how did it feel?”

“Stringy!” was the cute answer this time. Another shot. Sam wondered how many were needed. He wondered if it was a lot of blood used or not. It wasn’t like he was short and didn’t have much, though. If this priest could do it, so could he. He did, however, feel Dean’s peripheral vision sliding over him. Of course. 

The video cut in and out again.

“The second dose, has been administered. Hour four.”

Father Thompson walked over to the demon again. “When you ate his children--”

“Kiss my ass!”

“How did it feel?”

“Soft. Aaaah!”

Again. 

“The sixth dose has been administered.”

This time it was different - the demon… seemed different. “Stop,” he said, instead of some snappy, witty remark.

“How…”

“Please,” he begged. “Aah!”

But the priest was not giving up, begging or not. Sam felt a bit uncomfortable. Was the demon really… was it a lie, from the demon? Was it all faked? Did he pretend to be ‘cured’, only to later slaughter the pastor? Was the talking necessary? Did you have to do that?

“...did it…” ignoring the cries of distress, “...feel?”

“Stop!” He was panting, he looked… worn. Strained. Stretched. Hurt.

The priest looked tired, too. “Hour eight,” he said. “The subject is prepped.”

The demon whimpered, squirming madly, but Father Thompson was utterly unmoved. He went into the text of his modified exorcism, and Sam heard everyone in the room hold their breath.

“ _Exorcizamus te,_  
 _Omnis immundus spiritus._  
 _Hanc animam redintegra,_  
 _Lustra! Lustra!_ ”

“When you ate his children, how did it feel?” he asked again.

The demon’s tone was different now. It sounded… repentant. “They were screaming… and I laughed. Why did I laugh? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. _God_ , I was a monster.”

“But now you are a man again. And you have been saved.”

“Did he just…” Sam couldn’t believe it. “Cure a demon?”

“Maybe,” said Dean.

“If not, then that man was a very impressive actor,” Linda said, shaking her head slowly. “That… that was…”

“Not often you’re at a loss for words, Mom.”

“So take advantage of it, Kevin.” She didn’t sound upset.

“Could we take this hoodoo on a test drive?” Dean asked.

“Sure, I mean, I have the exorcism right here. All we need is the blood, consecrated ground, and a demon.”

“So we summon one into the trap? In the sex dung-- er. Dungeon?” Kevin was studiously ignoring his mother.

“I got an idea. It’s gonna be difficult, but… yeah. C’mon. Let’s make sure we got everything ready. We should do this in a church. Somewhere secluded. Somewhere we won’t be bothered.”

“...I think I know just the spot.”

***

“It is strange for me, to meet His Voice.”

“Yes, well, you don’t really want my autograph. I’m a glorified roadie. A girl in the typing pool.”

“But, Metatron, you heard _His **Voice**_.”

“Yes, I did. But just so you know: In public, it's Marv.”

“Marv.” It was a strange name to him. Much stranger than Metatron. It did not really suit him, much as Cas was sure ‘Jimmy’ would never suit him.

“And you're Castiel. I’ve been reading - hah - up on you.”

“You… have? There is much to read?”

“If you know where to look, most things are written somewhere. Well. I was looking at your exploits, and it seems you and I have a lot in common. We're both free thinkers. We're both on Heaven's most wanted list. I thought we could socialise, maybe grab a bite.”

“I'm sorry - we can… what?” A bite? Weren’t they supposed to be fixing Heaven? So he could go home… to Hell?

“Look, I've been on sabbatical. I'm trying to play catch-up, but I have to talk to somebody about what's going on back home.” He was offering a smile. It was not so reassuring. Was it simply the vessel he had chosen to inhabit?

“And by home,” Cas felt the need to clarify, “...you mean Heaven?”

“Right. I've been looking around, crawling through a few divine nooks and crannies, and from what I can see, without the archangels, it's a mess up there. Open warfare.”

“...I thought Naomi was running things now,” he admitted, reluctantly.

Metatron scoffed. “Is that what she told you? I mean, Naomi's a player - don't get me wrong - just one of many. There are factions upon factions, all fighting, betraying each other. It's just a matter of time before they start ripping each other apart. It's all broken.”

“I know, I'm the one who broke it.” It was true. Although Raphael and Michael had wanted to end it all, it had been Castiel who caused the most bloodshed in Heaven. The most open rebellion. “There was a time when I thought I could lead our people, but I was mistaken. I spilled so much blood. And I've tried to atone for my sins and I did penance. And I - betrayed my friends to protect our secrets, but I've just failed. And now--”

“Look, I know.” He was trying to sound reassuring. “But now the angels - Heaven - need someone to come to the rescue. They need _us_.”

“Us?” Really? An angel who thought he was God, and an angel who ran away, but who _knew_ God?

“Yeah. Just - just picture it. We ride to the rescue, save the day; make a great story. Look, the angels are like a big, dysfunctional family. We need to lock them all in a room until we work these problems out - all the factions, you, me--”

Cas frowned. It sounded a bit like some of the ‘daytime’ TV Crowley sometimes made him watch. “What, like a big family meeting?”

“Exactly. which is why we have to shut down Heaven.”

“What?” Shut it? Why would he want to shut it? He wanted to _go_ back. He already couldn’t. Why would he want to make it more complicated? This was making no sense at all.

“Do you like crêpes?”

“Wait--”

“Eugenie's in Ojai makes the greatest caramel apple crêpes,” Metatron insisted, vanishing.

The seraph startled, looking at blank space. Damn. Is that how everyone else always felt? “Metatron - Marv?” But he didn’t show. Ojai, he’d said. Well. He’d just have to follow him and hope for the best. But first...

***

The angel pushed to dial the only number he really ever cared about: Crowley’s. He’d been keeping him up to date with the major changes, but… but this he felt like he needed to speak to him. Aloud, if in person wasn’t possible. It was not the sort of thing you relegated to restricted numbers of textual characters. Pick up. Pick up. He stared at it, willing Crowley to be free.

“Hello, my angel,” Crowley grinned into the phone as he answered. “What’s gone on that warrants a telephone call from my favourite celestial being?”

Damnit. He was smiling already, even if Crowley couldn’t see. “I just needed to speak to you. It’s… it’s good news. I think. I might be coming home soon.”

“You _think_ it’s good news that you might be coming home soon? Kitten, that’s the best news I’ve heard since I found out you were alive! What’s going on?”

“I mean, I _might_ be coming home, not that it _might_ be good news. Well, it is good news, if it’s true. It’s just… we found Metatron. He had been in hiding. He didn’t even know about the archangels. But he… he said something about _closing_ Heaven to fix it. I… I don’t know, really, but he **did** hear God’s Word…”

“Metatron? Closing Heaven? What happens to all the angels when you close it, though? Are you sure that’s the best plan? I mean, I’m aware it’s the only plan at the mo, but… _closing_ Heaven? I suppose it could fix things… certainly stop Heavenly war…”

“He… he left. To get… crêpes. I just… I wanted to - what is it they say? ‘Touch base’ with you?” Although he’d rather touch things not bases. “I just miss your voice. Your… I just miss you, Crowley. If he can fix it - even if it sounds unorthodox… I have to take the chance. This is killing me by degrees.”

“Whatever you need to do to come home to me, angel, you do it. You know I will support you and do whatever I can to help you, love.”

A long, slow sigh. Cas didn’t know what to say, but he didn’t want to hang up. Maybe just listen to him breathe. It didn’t feel awkward, just… sad. “I just hope he has a plan, and he isn’t… isn’t just… stringing me along. The sooner I get rid of this tablet the better. And if I could fix the damage I did to Heaven… it upsets me. You know.”

Crowley sighed. “I know it does, kitten. It upsets me because it upsets you. If he’s stringing you along and playing you, believe me, he’ll pay for it. I’ll make sure of it.” He paused for a moment. “I miss you terribly. And it makes it even worse knowing you’re unhappy.”

“...are you okay? I… it feels like forever since we… I know I must be upsetting you, too, my being gone. I really am sorry, you know.”

“Darling, I know it’s your choice to be away from me. That’s what makes it bearable, you know. I’m alright as long as you’re alright, angel… you _are_ alright, yes?”

“Yes. I… I am. Lonely, but okay. It was… difficult, with Dean. He still does not accept us. I wish I could make him, but he… I do not understand why he will not give you a chance. It makes me annoyed. After all that we have all been through. He should hate me as much as you, if not more. But… even though I wish he would change his mind, his disapproval will not change my love for you.”

“Good to know that the Squirrel’s opinions regarding us doesn’t change your feelings.” Another sigh. Crowley enjoyed talking to his angel, of course, but it also made him miss him that much more. “Just hurry back, my love.”

“I will. I promise. It shouldn’t be much longer now. I will continue to text you… maybe this time tomorrow we will be able to put our phones away?” He bit his lip nervously. “I am going to kiss the phone. Is that strange? So that you know I am kissing you?”

“That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard, kitten. Here, I’ll do it first.” Crowley was grinning from ear to ear as he kissed the phone, smacking his lips loudly against it so Cas would be sure to hear him. “There. Your turn.”

Cas was blushing all the way to his hairline in public. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, then he lifted his phone up and kissed it. It was quieter, but no less heartfelt. “Did you feel it?” he asked.

“I did. I did feel it, Cas. Now, go get your crêpes or whatever it is that Metatron is getting and call me or text me whenever you wish, alright? I miss you and I love you very much, angel.”

“I will do. I miss you.” Damnit he didn’t want to hang up. “I’m going, but only because the sooner I do, the sooner I am home.” Pause. “But I still love you.” He pulled the phone into place for one last kiss as he hung up, then slipped the device into his pocket. Where had that damned Voice gone? Cas was going to shake him until he fixed things. Soon.

“I love you, too.” Crowley frowned as the call disconnected. He sat the phone down on the desk in front of him. _Damnit _. He missed his angel more than words could say. He rested his head on his hand.__

__“Angel… please… come home soon.”_ _


	86. Chapter 86

Metatron was already seated when Castiel caught up with him. He sat - seemingly unbothered - smiling to himself as if Heaven itself was not in tatters. His nonchalance was strange and unnerving. Cas just could not get his head around it at all.

“Why did you leave?” he asked. 

“I can't have this conversation on an empty stomach,” the other angel explained.

The waitress came over with his crêpes, then. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.”

She turned to the younger vessel. “Can I get you anything?”

“Coffee, please.” He did not really want coffee, but he had learned in his time on the run that if you did not order something, then the waitresses became annoyed with you. Coffee was simple and he could drink it. It would not stimulate him in the same way it did a human, but it would appear to be normal behaviour.

“Sure. Cool coat.” She was surprisingly chipper.

He looked up at her, patiently. “No, it's actually quite warm.” It was. Or, he thought so. It was not as if the extremes of temperatures really had an adverse effect on him, but still he could tell that it was very insulating.

“Cute and funny - okay.” She went off to get his coffee.

Oh. Perhaps she had considered his scientific truth to be a flirtation? He was going to have to ask Crowley about this at some point. He had not meant to give her false ideas about his levels of interest, but he still was not sure why sometimes people - like Meg - saw advances when he meant none. Perhaps Meg was a bad example. He had actually kissed her, but that was… complicated.

“I should have picked a better-looking vessel,” Metatron complained, shaking his head.

This was all way off-topic. He tried to steer the conversation back where it needed to go. “What did you mean, we can shut down Heaven?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, as if Cas would. “The trials: God's little ‘pull in case of emergency’... the Leviathans get out of control, you put them in Purgatory. Demons get a little too demonic, toss 'em into Hell. Angels get uppity, slam the pearly gates.”

Yes he was aware of the methods to ‘defeat’ demons and Leviathans, but… “Are you saying you know the trials to close Heaven?”

“I wrote 'em down. It's not something you forget.” A shrug, as he worked his way through his crêpes. “Look, I think a little alone time would be good for the angels. At the very least, it would s--” He startled, but it was only a dog barking somewhere further off. “It would stop the fighting up there from spilling out down here, which will happen. It always does.”

“You're gonna complete these tests?”

Metatron looked straight at him. “No. I can't: I am a pencil pusher, always have been. I'm not strong enough. But you - you are a warrior. I've got the plan, you've got the muscle. We can do this. Heaven needs your help, Castiel.”

“I am the one that caused these problems,” Cas agreed. “I should be the one to fix them.” Stopping Raphael has been… good. But not what came next. With hindsight, he might well do it all over, but try, somehow, to remove the souls and the Leviathans the moment Raphael was defeated. Still, ‘what ifs’ got you nowhere.

“But you understand this is, um, not going to be easy.”

Of course. Was anything, ever? “I understand.”

“No, you don't… See our waitress?” He gestured with his cutlery. “She's the first trial: got to cut her heart out.”

The seraph recoiled in horror, his blue eyes wide in shock. “What? No, she's... she's just a girl.” Why would he do that? To a monster, maybe. To a Leviathan. He had done as much or worse to any number of ‘monsters’. But not a girl. No. She did not seem evil in the slightest. 

“No, she isn't. She's a Nephilim, an abomination.”

Really? He hadn’t been able to tell. How could she be an abomination, if he could not even tell the difference between her and any other human? “She's the offspring of an angel and a human? I thought that wasn't allowed...”

“It's not. There's only one on Earth, and you are looking at it.”

Why would God forbid the Nephilim, but then require one for a spell? It made no sense. The very existence of their waitress was… troubling. And what if she had not existed? Would the spell require an angel to sire or birth a child with a human, simply to complete it? This was… so very, very wrong. Cas’ fingers itched to call his King, to ask what he thought. Heaven couldn’t need murder to fix it. No.

“But she didn't choose to be a Nephilim,” he argued. “So she's innocent.”

“Yes, she is. I told you it wasn't gonna be easy. But if you want to do this, Castiel, if you really want to do this, you got to ask yourself what's more important - her life or your family?”

But how could he kill someone whose only crime was being born? He had no idea what her origin was. Was it a loving, consensual relationship? Was it a simple, lust-fuelled meeting of two sexually open beings? Was it… was it worse? Even if it was, how could she be judged on the actions of her parents? It would have been better, in a way, if she had been a demon. A demon made a conscious decision to sin, but this…

***

“Look. Cas is always on about how Crowley’s ‘different’, and ‘not like the other demons’. Isn’t he?” Dean bit his lip, waiting for Sam to agree.

“I guess.” Sam frowned, trying to work through the logic. “If it - when it works - and we close down Hell, Crowley would be stuck below. Wouldn’t he?” 

“Along with Abaddon, and every other black-eyed sonofabitch. Bam.”

“And you think if we cure Crowley, then at least he won’t get stuck in Hell?”

“Yeah. He’ll probably thank us for it, in the end. I mean: if he’s cured, then he don’t get locked down below. And then he can still make the kissy face with the angel.”

“...but he’d be… human? If he didn’t die from it, of course.”

“Well, it’s a risk, sure. But what else can we do? He’s gonna hate us no matter what we do. Least this way… this way he’s got a chance for more time with Cas. You know?”

Dean could keep telling himself that was the only reason. Like it was doing the King of Hell a favour. He could keep saying it, until he believed it.

“Alright… but you’re the one calling him.” 

***

“I know what you are,” the waitress said. “I could see your halos.”

Metatron was immovable. “And we know what you are: abomination.”

“Please, I'm not. I try to be nice. I just want to live my life.”

She knew. She knew what her heritage was. And here she was, in a simple, normal job. Living a simple, normal life. “We know. I am sorry.”

“You will be.”

He did not blame her, it was a matter of self-defence. Still, when the waitress grabbed him and threw him at the fence, he dropped the angel blade. It hurt. She was stronger than a human, but it was… different. Not angelic. Not demonic. _Other_. He did not want to hurt her, truly he didn’t. He stared at her white-glowing eyes as she threw him again, and this time he hit a dumpster. It hurt. It hurt a lot.

“Having fun?” she laughed.

Metatron grabbed her collar, punching her in the face. She simply smirked, throwing him over the bench until he landed with a crash against the fence. 

“You want an abomination? I'll show you an abomination,” she snarled, choking him.

He did not want to do it, but now it was too late. She was incensed,and she was out of control. He did not… angel blade in hand, he pushed it into her neck. She groaned, and went down in a heavy, lifeless tangle of limbs.

This was so very, very wrong.

***

Naomi sat staring at the papers on her desk. This was ridiculous. How could she lose Castiel? How could she lose the _tablet_? An angel knocked softly and walked into her pristine office.

Naomi gave a heavy sigh. “What is it, Nathaniel?”

He knew better than to waste her time. He spoke quickly. “One of our freelancers has reached out to us. He's found Castiel.”

**Castiel**. “Where?”

“A drinking establishment in Houston, Texas. And…” he trailed off. This was big news, and though he knew better than to withhold information from Naomi, her reaction could be very, very bad.

“What?”

“He says Castiel was not alone.”

Naomi raised her eyebrows. “Who was he with?”

“...by the description, I-- I think it was him: the Scribe.”

“...well that _does_ change the game considerably. No one’s heard from Metatron in thousands of years.”

“Well… what do you want to do?”

“Arrange a party, we’re going to go meet him. He’s long overdue his debriefing.”

“Yes, ma’am.”


	87. Chapter 87

The two angels sat side by side on the bus-stop bench, as the world went peacefully by. No one knew. No one would look at them and suspect they had murdered a half-blood just minutes before. Castiel ran his thumbs into his palms.

“What... was he like?” he asked, needing… needing to say something.

“Who? Oh... God?” Metatron mused silently for a moment. “Hmm, pretty much like you'd expect.” The Scribe sighed. “Larger-than-life, gruff, bit of a sexist…. but fair - _eminently fair_. The Nephilim was a monster, Castiel.”

Cas did not think so. She had only been aggressive when she was worried for her life, but arguing the point would not help much. “And the next trial?”

Metatron nodded, looking directly ahead of them .”Across the street. His name is Dwight Charles. I've been listening in on the angel radio - Cupid frequency, actually - and he is the next on their list.”

“Their list?” Cas felt dumb, echoing everything he said, but he felt so… out of his depth here. Spells. Trials. Magic. It had to be right, didn’t it? Yes. It did.

“To do the horizontal mambo… slap bellies. You know, find love.”

Cas made a face. Why did he have to be so crude? Love was not like that. Maybe Metatron did not know? Even with all his stories? “I understand.”

The unwitting Dwight continued to sweep the steps out front of the bar, ‘Doc Marley’s Cocktails’, and nothing about him suggested he was pining. There had been no arrow when he met Crowley, though. He wondered if that was just because neither of them was human?

“He's slotted to be dinged by Cupid's arrow within 24 hours, which is good for us, because the second trial is retrieving Cupid's bow.”

“No killing?” No killing sounded good. No stopping true love sounded good too.

“No killing.” A grin spread across the Scribe’s face. 

***

“You called, boys?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. We finally worked out the last step to getting rid of Abaddon. And we’re gonna need your help with it.”

“Of course you are,” Crowley agreed. “You two would be stuck without me, let’s be honest. Isn’t it better now we’re all besties?”

“Yeah. So the last step--” Sam started, taking Crowley’s attention long enough for Dean to step in the one pace close enough to slap a cuff around the demon’s wrist.

“Need to make sure you stick with us for this one, Crowley,” Dean said, trying not to look apologetic and avoiding his eyes as he fixed the other cuff to his own wrist.

“Really?” Crowley smirked, snapping his fingers. He _should have_ been back in Hell… and yet here he was standing with the Moose and Squirrel… still cuffed. He narrowed his eyes at the Winchesters. 

“Demonic handcuffs, sorry. Means no flicking, no teleporting, no smoking out… you’re stuck with us, until we complete the trial.” Dean forced himself to meet the demon’s eyes. “You probably won’t thank us for it to start with, but when we’re through… yeah. It’s for the best. Believe me.”

“Fine. You want to play chain gang? _Let's_.” Crowley pulled his free arm back and slammed his fist into the side of Dean’s face. “You saddled yourself to the wrong bull, mate.”

Dean let him - once - but then he grabbed hold of Crowley’s hand and wrestled it under control. With the cuffs on, Crowley’s powers were significantly dampened, which meant this was a level playing field. Sort of.

“C’mon, man. Don’t make this any harder. You want Abaddon dead, and this is the only way to stop her running riot all over the place. It’s also the only way to keep you from getting shoved down into Hell along with every other demon. It’s a _mercy_ , you pompous little dick.”

Sam stood behind Crowley, his hands patting him down, finding anything that needed removing: cellphone, angel blade… and shoving them in his own jeans. “Dean’s right, Crowley. If we don’t do this to you, then you get locked up along with Abaddon.”

“If you don’t _do what_ to me?” Crowley was angry - **furious** \- that his supposed _friends_ decided it was quite alright to put him in handcuffs. Even more so that they planned on doing something to him that they felt the need to put him in restraints for.

“Cure you,” Sam said. “Fix you. It’s the way we seal off Hell.” He took a half-step back, but was ready to step back in if need be.

“Come again?” Oh no. Oh _Hell no_. There was no way Crowley would be made to live a mortal existence. No. He lunged at Dean like a football player, his shoulder digging into Dean’s stomach as he tackled him to the ground. Crowley kneed Dean in the groin as he swung with one hand, the other hoping to find a key to those bloody handcuffs somewhere in the Hunter’s stupid jacket - preferably before the Moose intervened. 

Dean went down - he had no choice in the matter, because Crowley was surprisingly strong, even without his powers… and cuffed together there wasn’t really a way to avoid it. He pulled his knees up, trying to roll over and protect himself. He didn’t really want to hurt Crowley, but he was going to have to if it was the only way to save himself from injury.

Sam was over in a heartbeat, grabbing hold of the back of Crowley’s collar and his belt, hefting him up and off Dean. “Hey… Crowley, come on. This is for your own good. Stop fighting us. We’re _helping_.”

Crowley was still struggling, trying desperately to get away. “You two bloody morons have no idea what the actual fuck you’re doing. You never do! It’s all shoot first, ask questions later. Have you considered the implications of what you’re up to?!” He snapped his head towards Sam. “Put me _down_ you ham-handed frigging giant!”

But the younger Winchester just hefted him up. He held him still, nodding at Dean. 

Dean uncuffed his own wrist, and then Sam shoved Crowley back onto the ground, wrestling for his other hand so he could bind them both behind his back. 

“This is for your own good, dickbag,” Dean repeated. “You want to be locked in Hell without Cas? No? So shut up complaining. He keeps saying you’re different. Why don’t you prove it?”

_No_. He bloody well didn’t want to be locked in Hell without Cas… His lips curled into a snarl as he looked at those stupid idiots. “Where is he? I suppose you’ve got him and the tablet secure, then?”

“...working on it,” Sam said, pulling back and leaving Crowley face-down on the ground. “We’ll get rid of Abaddon, and then we’ll help him and Metatron fix Heaven. And then we can all go home.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Believe it when I see it. But Sam’s right… we wanted to give you a second chance, Crowley. Now, you gonna come nicely or do I need to baggie you?”

Crowley narrowed his eyes, but didn’t struggle. He would go with them only because he didn’t want to be without Castiel. He was more than furious about it, though. He had trusted them. Helped them. Time and time again and the thanks he gets is being _cured_. Whatever the Hell **that** entailed. Being cured of being a demon did not sound like a walk in the park. He didn’t want to be cured because he could only think it meant being human again. And if he was human again and Castiel was not…

Well… he didn’t want to think about _that_ either.

Sam helped him up as kindly as he could, and tugged his arm gently towards the car. “C’mon. If there was another way, we’d have done it. This… this is how it’s got to be.”

Dean brushed himself down, and walked over to the driver’s side of the car. He couldn’t even look at him.

Crowley studied the older Winchester as he brushed himself off. “You know you’re doing the wrong thing, don’t you, Dean?”

“Yeah, well, there’s no right thing to do in this kind of situation either, is there?” A shrug. “So. Buckle up. It’s a bit of a drive to where we gotta go.”

***

Inside the cocktail bar, the two angels were sitting, trying to look inconspicuous. Castiel was reading a newspaper, studying it with intent. The plaintive notes of a man having troubles with truck, wife and horse wobbled in the background.

“What are you reading?”

“Personal advertisements.”

The Scribe squinted at him. Really? Was Castiel looking for love?

“The faster that man finds love, the faster the Cupid will come,” Cas explained. “Trust me. I'm friends with friends who do this for a living.” Well. Not the match-making, but the interfering, certainly. 

Dwight walked over to their booth. “Help you, gents?” he offered.

“Yes.” He looked up. “Would you say that you're looking for, uh, a partner in crime… or, uh, someone who's into nurse role-play and light domination?” He made a mental note to ask Crowley about those. Not in a ‘I want to try them’ way, but in a ‘what is the appeal some people find in nurses or pretending to be something they are not and why would that be the basis for a fulfilling, long-term relationship’ way.

“Brother, it's 10 a.m. on a Tuesday….”

Wasn’t any time or day good for love, Cas wondered? Surely you would not turn your soulmate down because it happened to be before lunch? Or would you? Was that why Dwight was currently single?

“Uh, we'll have two drafts, please,” Metatron said instead.

“Coming up.” He wandered off to pull their beers from the keg.

“You're not the most subtle tool in the shed, are you?” Metatron asked, but he’d barely finished speaking when he was grabbed from the booth.

Castiel pushed to his feet, shocked to see Naomi and two other angels. Oh no. Oh no! He’d been lax in his hiding.

“Kill him,” Naomi said.

As the other woman moved towards him, ready to fight him… there was a sharp crack of gunfire, and Dwight re-cocked his shotgun, glaring at them. The angel holding Metatron glanced down, staring at the holes in jacket, the pellets having peppered into his shoulder. 

“Next one won't wing you,” he warned. “Take it someplace else.”

The angel he shot blipped behind the barman, grabbing him and slamming him face-first into a beer cooler, knocking him out. Dwight crumpled to the floor, collapsing in a tangled mess.

“Let him go,” Cas growled.

“Haven't you caused enough harm already, Castiel?” Naomi asked.

Angel blade in hand, Cas advanced on them. Three, to his one. Not the best odds, but to be honest he had faced worse. And plus, Dwight was innocent. He didn’t deserve to die, and he had to do his best to protect the Word and the Scribe.

“Stop. Please, Castiel, don't make this any worse. Please….” Metatron begged.

But before he could answer, Naomi and her minions had escaped with Metatron, leaving him alone in the bar. He still had the angel tablet, but… if Naomi had the Scribe, then she wouldn’t even need it. 

Cas was at a loss. He pulled his phone out and dialled Crowley. It rang, and rang, and rang… and went to voicemail.

“It’s me,” he said, to the recording device. “Please call me. Naomi has Metatron, and I only know about the first two trials. What do I do? Where are you? Please… just call me.”

He put the phone away, and then moved to pull Dwight into a booth to let him come around safely.

The next person he tried to call was Dean.


	88. Chapter 88

Dean drove up to the abandoned church Sammy had found. It was in the back end of beyond, and there was no chance of them being disturbed, but the ground was still hallowed. The drive was strangely quiet, with no music playing. For once, even Crowley wasn’t his usual, chipper, sarcastic self, and once he’d fumed at them, he’d gone strangely sullen and quiet. It was… wrong. So very wrong. Not like him at all.

Still in silence, they escorted him out of the car and into the building. There was already a chair in place, with chains ready to attach to the cuffs. Dean started to spray-paint the Devil’s Trap around it, as Sam nodded for Crowley to get into the chair.

Crowley turned to look at Sam, scoffing at the chair. "You really think this is gonna hold me?" He shook his head. "Did you tell Cas about this, or are you dicking him over, too?"

Sam sighed. “It will hold you. We’ve seen proof. And no… Cas doesn’t know. We knew he wouldn’t agree, so…”

Dean went over to manhandle Crowley towards the chair, so he could finish painting the sigil. He shoved him down firmly but not viciously. “Look, this is the only way you two could stay together, alright? Quit acting like it’s the end of the world. You get a second chance, right? We coulda picked any random stiff, but we decided to try help you out. Quit bellyaching.”

"Oh, don't act like you're doing this for me. Did it ever occur to you that I might not _want_ to be 'cured'? That I don't want the gates of Hell closed? This is my Kingdom, my home, my livelihood that you're taking away from me, do you realise? And of fucking _course_ Cas wouldn't approve! You lot bring nothing but destruction everywhere you go. Should've known better than to trust a **Winchester**."

“Listen,” Dean growled, pushing a finger into his chest. “Your kind? Run riot all the Hell over _my_ turf. They lie, cheat, steal, murder… whatever they feel like. And then some hoiked up little two-bit Knight decides to show and **murder** my grandfather and **ruin** my dad’s childhood… and you want me to just, what? Sit around and wait for her to destroy the world? Demons are nothing but trouble. **You** are nothing but trouble. But maybe - just maybe - if we can scrub the bad from you? Maybe then you’ll be alright.”

Sam came over then, fixing the chains to Crowley’s cuffs, clanking irons around his ankles, too. He finalised the sigil with the spray paint, and went over to pour out the holy oil.

" _You_ lie, cheat, murder, steal - whatever _you_ feel like - so maybe, just maybe _you_ should be eradicated, you arrogant little **prick**!"

Crowley yanked at the chains trying to be as obnoxious as possible about it, making sure they knew just how unhappy he actually was.

Dean shook his head in disgust. “I kill **bad guys** , Crowley. Bad guys. Monsters. Monsters like **you**. I don’t do it for kicks. You can’t put what we do on the level with what you do, you moron. This is happening. And if it works, when it’s over, you’ll thank us from saving you from your stupid, sorry, sad-sack self. Maybe you’ll even be a decent person. But until then, you’re still the King of Nasty and you need an intervention. So can it.”

Angry, he walked out to the Impala, to get more supplies.

" _You_ need an intervention, you pathetic, self-loathing sack of shit!" Crowley screamed after Dean.

He jerked his arms, trying in vain to free himself. His days of simply stepping out of Devil's Traps were long gone. This was a nightmare. A bloody nightmare. He had no idea what it meant to be ‘cured’ of being a demon, but the only thing he could focus on was mortality. And mortality meant no forever with Cas. And that was unacceptable. _Unacceptable_.

Out by the car, Dean looked over to Sam. “He's primed. How you feeling?”

“Honestly, for the first time in a long time, it feels like we might win. I mean… I feel kinda bad for Crowley, but it’s the only way I can see this working for everyone. We all gotta make sacrifices, right?”

“Yeah… he’ll come around. So. What's the good father's playbook say now?”

“Well... now that we got the consecrated ground, I just, uh… I slip Crowley one dose of blood every hour for eight hours and seal the deal with a bloody-fist sandwich. That should do it.”

Dean hesitated, not sure how to broach the next thing. “Your blood's supposed to be purified, isn't it? You ever, uh - you ever done the ‘forgive me, Father’ before?”

His brother sighed, licking over his lips. “Well, once, when we were kids,” he admitted. “Which is why I have no clue what to say now.”

Hmm. It was a difficult one. It wasn’t as if Dean had done it, either. Neither of them had really been religious, and they’d even not believed in Heaven and angels until one showed up on their doorstep with his stupid, messed-up tie. “Well, I mean, I could give you suggestions if you want?” he offered.

“O-okay. Yeah, sure.”

He figured maybe it would be easier for someone else to point out his flaws? Yeah? Yeah. It was that, and not just a list of things he was pissed with him for. “All right. Well, I'm just spit-balling here, but if I were you, uh... Ruby, killing Lilith, letting Lucifer out, losing your soul…”

“...thanks.” Sam bristled under the commentary, turning away and going back to packing up the items he needed into the holdall. When was Dean going to let it go? Lucifer and the seals had been an accident. An accident! It wasn’t as if he _wanted_ the Apocalypse. And Ruby… yeah. That had been a mistake, but at the time? At the time… he stared at the church, unwilling to go back in just yet.

But Dean wasn’t finished with the litany, no of course he wasn’t. “...for starters. Or, hey, h-how about what you did to, uh, Penny Markle in the sixth grade? Why don't you lead with that?”

Sam turned on his heel, eyes narrowed at Dean. “Well,” he said, as calmly as he could, “...that was you.”

Dean blinked. Oh. Yeah. Well that was only one of them. “Carry on.”

Trying not to let his anger show - he was supposed to be _purifying_ himself - Sam walked back into the church. The thunder growled threateningly as he walked past Crowley and into the small confessional booth. He dropped to his knees, shutting the door behind him. A slow, deep breath. Here went nothing. “Okay, um... if anybody's listening, here goes…”

***

This was bad. This was very, very bad. Castiel flew to Hell to find Crowley, but he wasn’t there. He still wasn’t answering his phone either. Cas assumed Crowley must be tied up on business, and the Winchesters weren’t answering their phones either, so he was just about to fly to find them when:

“ _Heaven… must be missing an angel…._ ”

That was the ringtone that Crowley had programmed into his phone. He jumped, pulling it from his pocket… but his face fell when he saw a goofy picture (again, Crowley) of a squirrel. Damnit. He answered the phone.

“Dean, I need your help.”

Dean rolled his eyes, slamming the trunk shut, not caring that it would be extremely loud on the other end of the phone. “Little busy, Cas. Take a number.”

Why the Hell had Dean called if he was ‘busy’, then? “I'm afraid this can't wait.” He was fidgeting from foot to foot. “Naomi has taken Metatron. And Crowley is not answering his phone. Or his voicemails.” Cas had left several. Of increasing anxiety.

Dean scoffed. Of course Crowley wasn’t answering his phone. “What’s that skanky bitch want with Metatron? She know you’re workin’ with him?” Best to steer the conversation away from the demon.

“He can recall all the content of the tablets - angel and demon - and so she no longer needs the tablets, because they require the Prophet to translate. With Metatron, she has direct access to the knowledge within them, and who knows what else? Dean… I am really rather concerned. I need to find Crowley and I need to rescue Metatron and also to fix Heaven. I need… I need Kevin.”

“Well, Kevin should be safe and sound back at the bunker. You should head on over there and talk to him. Listen, Cas. I gotta get going. Me and Sam got somethin’ big we’re working on…”

“...this is big, too, Dean. This is **Heaven**. I…” Cas was clearly panicking, which he rarely if ever did. “Dean…”

“Yeah, Cas. I get it. It’s big, too. Listen. Why don’t you meet me at the bunker?”

“Yes. Thank you, Dean. I… thank you.” Cas hung up and flew straight there.

***

Inside of Naomi’s office, she had the Scribe strapped into a chair. The smart-suited angel stared impassively down at the other.

“I know you,” he said, frowning up at his captor.

“We've never officially met,” she said, with a delicate little incline of the head.

He laughed. Of course she would act like this. Of course. “Naomi.” His eyes wandered, seeing the little gurney, replete with tools of the trade. “Your reputation precedes you. The archangels--”

“Wanted me to debrief you, after God left,” she finished for him, whether he wanted her to or not.

Another laugh. “...’Debrief’ me. Is that what you call it?”

“Well, how would you know? You ran before I had the chance. But… here we are. I just have one question, before we begin. You had to know that we would leap at the chance to extract all of God's secrets from that head of yours, which is why I ask myself: why? Why did the Scribe suddenly come in from the shadows? And what are you doing with Castiel?”

He paused, then: “ _Of the blessings set before you, make your choice and be content_.”

At her confused expression he said, “Not a big reader, are we?”

She was not, clearly. She picked up a drill, and moved closer, ready to use it. Metatron cringed. He’d thought it was possible, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Of course.


	89. Chapter 89

Inside the church, Sam came out of the confessional and went to the small set of hypodermics. He pulled one out, and used it to draw a vial full of blood from his arm, trying not to groan too loudly at the pain. He closed his eyes, fighting the rising nausea and dizziness. It would pass. It often passed. 

Crowley eyed the youngest Winchester as he drew the blood. “You really think injecting me with human blood is gonna make me human? Did you read that on the back of a cereal box?”

Sam shook his head, trying not to get drawn into it. He approached carefully, and injected the shot as painlessly as he could. “Just eight hours, Crowley. That’s all you gotta put up with this for. Eight hours, then it’s all over.”

Crowley let out a cry of pain, more out of shock. Honestly, he was not expecting to have that bloody thing jabbed in his neck. He smirked at Sam. “You're miles out of your league, Moose. See you in an hour.” The King of Hell was wracking his brain trying to think of a way out of this. Literally _nothing_ good could come from this. **Nothing**.

The marks on his arm were hurting again, and Sam put his hand over it. Cleansing pain, that was it. Just the wickedness leaving his body. Nothing more. Good pain, not bad pain. He tried to rub it down, then he looked over at the King of Hell. Did it sting him the same way? He’d hissed, but… it was hard to tell. “Yeah,” he said. “See you in an hour, Crowley.”

***

Dean arrived much later than Castiel did, obviously. He found Kevin and the angel pouring over the tablet intently, scribbled notes and coffee cups littering the table. 

When no one as much as looked up to greet him, he spoke. “Looks like you guys started the party without me,” he laughed. Still no response aside from a worried glance from Castiel. The Hunter cleared his throat. “So… Metatron, the guy who was full-on crazy, cat-lady-hoarder angel yesterday - now he wants to save Heaven?”

“Yes,” said Cas, looking back down over Kevin’s shoulder as he pushed through the translation, trying to find where they were up to in the trials. “...he wants to.”

But then Cas looked up, holding Dean’s gaze with an unwavering, unblinking stare. “But I'm the only one in who can. I can't fail, Dean, not on this one. I need your help.”

Dean frowned. “Look, Cas, that's all well and good, okay, but you're asking me to leave Sam. You know these trials are really messin’ him up. Now, if anybody needs a chaperone while doing the heavy lifting, it's Sam.”

Kevin snorted. “I think you underestimate your brother, Dean. Sam’s no pushover. Sure he’s struggling under the trials, but I told you they weren’t gonna be easy.”

“Kevin is correct. Sam is very capable. Could you, perhaps, pause in the current step? Metatron is in danger now, and so is Heaven. Abaddon has been around for some weeks now, so a few hours more would not be any great difference?”

Dean shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Look, I... I'm down with sending the angels back to Heaven, just 'cause they're dicks. But Abaddon? This is on us. We’re the only hope this world’s got against sending her ass back to Hell for good.”

“I see. Well. I… would appreciate it if you could help me, but… I understand if you cannot,” Cas said, hanging his head. “If you feel that Sam requires your assistance more than I do, if you just tell me where he is, then I will take you right there and continue alone.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “I actually gotta pick up a few things here and then make another couple stops. Plus I’ll need Baby when we’re done. You stay here and help Kevin with the tablets. Maybe this way we can knock out both things at once, huh?” Dean forced a smile, hoping to Hell Cas couldn’t see through him.

The look of intense gratitude on the seraph’s face was overwhelming. “Yes. Of course, Dean. Thank you. It… it means a lot to me.”

“Yeah, maybe include some Mountain Dew on the grocery list, while you’re at it, Dean?” Kevin asked. “And if you really expect me to translate this in hours when the last one took me months, could you have future meaningful conversations, I dunno. Away from me?”

“Sure thing, Kev. And sorry ‘bout that… keep up the good work, buddy.” Dean held up two thumbs at Kevin, smiling, trying to be apologetic. He turned back to Cas. “Good luck with Metatron. I’ll see you in a little while, okay?”

“Okay,” Cas echoed, and went back to fretting over Kevin’s shoulder. 

Kevin swatted at him, until the angel got the message and went to pace elsewhere.

***

The church was a mess, the pews long since rotted. Even the cross was in pieces, with only the nailed-on extremities of Christ left clinging to the cross. Sam stood in front of the abandoned altar, wondering. He’d never really been that religious to begin with, and even knowing that God existed - and didn’t, apparently, care any more - it hadn’t really changed him that much. He no longer needed faith to believe, but he wasn’t sure he even wanted to. The next injection was ready, and he waited until the little hand was just before the hour before he walked over to push it into the King of Hell’s neck.

Crowley could only think of one thing that _might_ get him out of this. The moment Sam’s arm was within reach, he turned and **bit** into his arm as hard as he could, getting as much of the Winchester’s blood into his mouth as possible.

Sam hissed in pain at the bite, jumping back. “What the Hell, Crowley?” He resisted the urge to slap him, but it was _strong_. “Biting?! Seriously?!” The Hell was this, grade school? He stormed off, trying to get his anger under control. He was supposed to be pure, not angry. The door slammed shut behind him.

Crowley waited until the Moose left the building before spitting the blood he’d managed to get from Sam’s arm into his hand. “ _Inferni sectatores, nunc audite regem_.” The blood began to bubble as it did whenever it was being used for communications and Crowley smiled a bit. “Cecily, if you can hear this, please… it’s me, your King. Send help immediately.” He checked over his shoulder to make sure Sam hadn’t come back in. “The Winchesters have me in some run down church. I’m trapped. Sweetheart, I need you.”

***

Back at the bar, Dean was watching the television. The program had a hunter drawing his bow, arrow notched and pointed straight at the camera. Dean wondered if that was Cupid’s idea of a joke or something, and when Cas came to sit beside him on one of the stools, he turned his attention to him.

“Anything? You've been gone long enough.” Dean was more impatient than usual, no doubt because he was worried about Sam. Castiel seemed to have been gone forever. Surely he had _something_.

“No. There was one female, but…”

“What?”

“...I don't think she was female.” Cas frowned. It was very confusing. She had seemed to dress as a female, but she did not have the same physiology, and she had also been very tall. Very tall. With large hands. “Anything here?”

Dean decided to ride right past the first part of that conversation and move on to the second half. “Free drinks. Your, uh, buddy over there thinks you saved his life.” He took a hearty sip from the glass in front of him.

Well, he had. It was true. Still, he frowned at the alcohol consumption. Cas realised they were in a bar, and that was what you generally did in bars, but this was not a social visit. “Do you really think it's wise to be drinking on the job?” Also Dean drank too much.

Dean rolled his eyes with a frown. “What show you been watching? Talk to me. Are you sure about this? I mean, it's one thing me and Sammy clipping the world’s angriest ginger, but you… you’re - you're boarding up Heaven, and you're locking the door behind you.”

“Yeah. I know.” But what choice did he have? He had ruined it. Heaven. He’d all but destroyed it in his pique, and if this was how he fixed it… well. He’d just have to leave Heaven separated from the Earth for as long as it took to fix it. Of course, he intended on being a resident of Earth when it happened, and hoping the other angels left behind would find some way to work out all their differences.

Dean narrowed his eyes, looking at Castiel seriously. “You did a lot of damage up there, man. You think they're just gonna let that slide?”

“Do you mean do I think they'll kill me? Yeah, they might. But I don’t plan on being up in Heaven when it happens… I have… other priorities, now.”

“So, this is it?” Dean said, taking another sip and glancing at the television again. “All Dogs Go To Heaven, huh?” The Hunter looked back at the angel, the joke completely missed. He rolled his eyes just before he heard the door open at the other end of the bar. Both he and Castiel turned to look as a delivery woman came in, stopping to talk to the barkeep.

The man smiled at the woman. “Hey, there. Where's Ed?”

“Flu,” she said. “I'm Gail.”

“Well, okay, then,” Dwight replied, seemingly not bothered by the change in staffing. 

Dean smiled at Cas, setting the glass down on the bar. “ _Showtime_.”

Dwight moved to help her with the dolly loaded with cases of beer. “Let me give you a hand.”

“Oh, thanks. Ah. You're a real gentleman.” She beamed over at one of the guys sitting at the bar. “Hey.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh at what he was seeing. “Holy shit, this is like the first five minutes of every porno I've ever seen.”

Cas wondered when they would be phoning for a pizza, or did they not need to phone for a pizza if they had beer instead? Was the foodstuff irrelevant and only used as a forwarding device for the story-line? It was strange. Did Cupids really work like pornographic films?

The woman handed Dwight a pen and the clipboard to sign for the delivery. “Thanks.”

As he signed, Dwight nodded between the two. “Gail - Rod.”

“Ma'am,” said Rod politely.

“Rod rides a stool here most days,” Dwight explained.

The woman put a hand on each of their shoulders companionably and smiled. Cas wondered if Dean was correct. Did Cupid work like this? Would the angel of love set three people up at once? 

“I'll be seeing you both,” she said, picking up her clip board. “Thanks for the help.”

“No problem,” Dwight said in response.

Dean watched as Gail left, confused. He was certain she was the match intended, but all that was left were the two men. He narrowed his eyes, now entirely sure what was going on.

The two men went to watching the television together, and the hunter was back to demonstrating his bow work. 

In unison, the two men said: “Damn, that's sweet.” Startled, they looked at one another. 

“ _Oh, it's so nice to be with you_  
 _I love all the things you say and do…_ ”

Dwight looked curious. “How about the next one's on me?” he offered.

“ _And it's so nice to hear you say_  
 _You're gonna please me in every way…_ ”

Cas smiled. True love. He liked true love. 

Dean, still looking quite confused, turned to Cas. A questioning look was on his face.

Cas reached over to pat Dean on the shoulder. “It is okay, Dean. We have found Cupid. And those two will be very happy with one another, I can tell. When you are in love yourself, you can recognise it in others.”

“Stow the Hallmark card, Cas. Let’s just go get this damn thing and be done with it.”

The angel felt sorry for him, really, because his outdated notions of sexuality and romantic attraction really were emotionally stifling and crippling him. “Come on, we must go and find her bow.”


	90. Chapter 90

Crowley had been staring at the stained glass windows of the old church watching the sunlight fade into darkness. Judging by his calculations, it had almost been an hour since the last needle in the neck.

“How we doing, Moose? Ain't it about time for the next love injection?” He smirked and started singing loudly, his voice bouncing off the walls in an almost eerie echo. “ _Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes, turn and face the strange_...”

Really? He had to sing? It was probably better than the ranting, or even the sullen silence, but Sam wasn't sure what to say to him. He barely knew what to say to him at the best of times... Sam turned to face the altar so he wouldn't have to look him in the eye. His arm burned terribly, and it was only getting worse with every passing hour. One small blessing was Dean off with Cas. He didn't think he'd have kept his cool around his brother.

“ _Ch-ch-changes... just gonna have to be a different man, time may change me, but I can't trace_ \--” Crowley stopped singing the moment the church started to shake. He simply sat still, hands clasped as the floorboards cracked all the way from the front door to the other side, breaking the trap on the floor.

His smile became more smug, his voice raised. “Did you really think you could kidnap the King of Hell and no one was gonna notice, **numb nuts**?!”

The front doors of the church flew open, banging into the wall hard as Abaddon stepped through. “Hello, boys.”

“That's my line…” Crowley complained. “I call for my best, and this is the whore that shows up?”

“Lovely to see you, too, Crowley.”

Crowley turned his head the best he could with that blasted collar locked tight around his neck still. “I take it the rest of the cavalry isn’t gonna show?”

Abaddon smirked. “Oh, no, it's just little, old, unkillable me,” she said sweetly.

Sam reached behind him for the gun that was lying on the altar, but Abaddon simply flicked with her wrist, sending him sprawled into wall. The gun went off, but into dead space. Sam hurt. Oh god, he hurt. He was already sore to begin with, he really did _not_ have the energy to fight her off, too.

“What are you even doing here? Clearly you’re not here to rescue your King.”

Another flick, and Sam went flying out the window. She clicked around on her heels, tap, tap, tap on the floor.

“That'll do. Undo these.” He gestured with his cuffed wrists. “I'll kill him myself.”

Click, click, click went her heels as she walked around in front of him. “That was an order, was it?”

“I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but you’re a demon of reason. He plans to seal off all of Hell. It’s in our interests to work together.”

“Or I could just kill him myself. And you.”

“ _I am your **King**_.”

“About that…” A punch to the face, and a wider smile.

***

Dean and Cas were waiting for Gail, and when she left the beer plant, she nodded at them in recognition. “Hello, brother.”

“Cupid,” he said with a stiff little nod in response. “I need your bow.”

“What?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey--” Dean turned to Cas, giving him a look that said _shut up_. He spun back around to face the Cupid. “What he meant to say was, hey… how’s it goin’?” He offered his best smile.

“I need your bow to fix Heaven,” Cas explained. “It’s vitally important that you give it to me. I would not ask otherwise.” 

Gail let her eyes fall to the ground in contemplation. “I've been afraid to go home for some time now.” She looked from Dean back to Castiel. “Orders used to come once a day, and now it's chaos… it all seems to be breaking down. And you think you can fix that?” 

He was responsible for that. For all of that. For worse. “With time, yes.”

Gail tilted her head, thinking for a moment more. “Take it, then.” She offered him her hand, her bow appearing in the center of her palm.

Castiel nodded solemnly, and held his hand out to take it. “This might sting a little,” he said, as he hefted the angel blade in the other hand.

***

Again she punched him, hard, making him reel from the blows. He was a sitting duck right now, and she was enjoying herself properly. This was what a demon should be about. _This_. “Do you know what I find the most shocking about time-traveling through a closet and landing in the year 2013?” she asked. 

Punch, punch, punch. On the last one, the impact was so hard the whole chair up-ended, taking Crowley down with it. “...somebody thought it was a good idea to make you the King of Hell.”

“You heard me just a moment ago, right? He's trying to shut the Gates of Hell!”

“Right now, you and I are gonna talk about regime change…” she said, instead. The human would be a walk in the park, really. He wasn’t going to complete whatever he’d set out to do, because she would gut him without even touching him.

The reality of what was happening was beginning to dawn on Crowley. No one was coming to save him. His call had very possibly been completely intercepted by Abaddon, but it’d been the best he could do at the time. If Sam were to finish what he was doing _or_ if he really was stuck here, powerless, on the floor at Abaddon’s feet… there wouldn’t be any more angel. Not for him. Abaddon would surely kill him - he was a worthy opponent, and he was in her way.

Crowley felt panic rising in his chest. _Panic_. Panic like he couldn’t remember feeling - at least not in a very, very long time. Possibly ever… he struggled with the restraints, trying his damnedest to get out of them. He couldn’t even get himself sitting up straight the way he was strapped down to that infernal chair.

So he resorted to shouting. “ **You little whore. I am your K—**!”

One perfectly shiny shoe impacted the King of Hell in the face, hard enough to render him unconscious. A sound behind her caught her attention, and she swivelled to see Sam.

Sam had dragged himself back in, holding a jar of holy oil he’d already prepared. He tossed it over her. “I love the suit.” A quick flick of match over the rough strip, and he tossed the lit stick onto the demon. At once the holy oil ignited, burning through oil and fabric, and scorching her meatsuit, too.

Abaddon let out an ungodly screech of pain and annoyance, her mouth opening wide to let the demon inside swirl out in a torrent of angry black smoke.

***

Metatron tried to blink the stream of blood from his eye, but it just made it hurt worse. His vessel was complaining under the harsh abuse, but there was little he could do. If he tried to leave the vessel, he knew he would be in just as much danger in his true form. 

“You've been digging,” he said, sadly.

“Why are you doing this - this?”

Why? It took all he had not to spit in her face. Stupid Naomi. He’d been hidden all this time, he was no fool. 

“Do you have any idea what it would be like to be plucked from obscurity, to sit at God's feet, to be asked to write down His word? The ache I felt when He was gone, telling myself, ‘Father's left, but look what He's left us: paradise.’ But you and your archangels couldn't leave well enough alone. You ran me from my home. Did you really think you could do all of that to me and there'd be no payback?”

Naomi left in a flurry of wings, and he turned to look at the drill she’d left. She’d underestimated him. Everyone always underestimated him. Just because he was the Scribe, and not a soldier… he’d learned to work with the tools he had. Tools like, say, a drill left behind in reach of his powers. 

***

Trying not to wince in pain at the effort, Sam tugged the chair back onto its legs, righting it and Crowley in one. 

Crowley was grateful to be upright once more. “You did good back there, Moose. I'll deny it if you ever quote me, but I'm a proud man... I'm proud of you.”

Of course the tousle had messed up the Devil’s Trap, so Sam fetched the spraypaint and touched up the lines, making sure it would still hold. “Thanks,” he said, gruffly.

Crowley narrowed his eyes at the spraypaint. “Hold on. Uh, w-- what's that?”

“It's what it looks like.” Call a spade a spade, Sam thought, as he put the finishing touches into place. Yep. That would do it.

The demon looked up at the Hunter incredulously. “Are you _joking_? I just saved your life.”

The Hunter couldn’t hold back his laugh at that. “Seriously?” Saved his life? Nope. Sounded to him like he was ready to sell Sam down the river and start all over again with Abaddon to him.

Crowley didn’t even notice how worked up he was. His heart was racing, he was sweaty... and neither of those things had anything to do with Abaddon. “Seriously? Me, seriously?” His words were coming out so quickly, it was hard for his brain to process them, instead he just spat them out before he ever even considered what exactly it was that he was saying. “We just shared a foxhole, you and I. We beat back the Tet Offensive, outrun the - the Rape of Nanking… **together**! And still you're gonna _do me like this_?!”

Sam tried to ignore the babbling, because it was time. It was time, and it was a good job Abaddon hadn’t made him late. He walked over, pushing the next syringe worth of blood into him with less care this time, because he felt half dead and he just wanted this whole thing _over_.

The King cried out in pain as the needle went in. It was _really_ starting to hurt. **Bad**. He hissed again for good measure… just to be sure Sam knew he was actually hurting him. Why did he suddenly care? He looked back up at Sam. "...’Band of Brothers’? ‘The Pacific’...? None of this means _anything_ to you? All those motels, you never once watched HBO, not once? ‘Girls’? You're my Marnie, Moose... A-and Hannah - she just… she needs to be loved. She deserves it. Cas always said so. He agreed, you know. Watching it on the couch… cookies and blankets and milk and… don't we all - you, me - we _deserve_ to be loved. **I** deserve to be loved! He always made me feel like that! I just… I just want to be loved…”

Sam got the gist of that, the whole ‘love’ part. It wasn’t as if Crowley didn’t say it often enough for it to be clear that was what he was thinking of, right now. But the rest of it was just plain nonsense. He was fairly sure Crowley was talking about television programming, but even the guy’s voice had changed. It was… it was surreal. Maybe it was working already. Weird. That was faster than it should have. “...what?”

A look of confusion came over the demon’s face as he looked carefully at Sam. He shook his head, focusing his attention once more on the stained glass window that he could see. “He was always beautiful, you know… beautiful and blue tendrils swirling… like Heaven… just like Heaven. You never saw it, how could you… there was always so much love for him, you know? Just… beautiful. I don’t just mean the physical, you know. It’s not like that. Not inside. It’s something else instead, kind of… goodness. I mean. Kindness. Giving. Always giving and caring. But then there was pain and, and…” His eyes locked back on Sam’s. “You could never understand that kind of pain… that kind of… so much beauty and love and… falling.” He drew a shaky breath in. “--It hurts, Sam. It hurts.”

Sam frowned at him. He must be talking about Cas’ true form. Could a demon even see it? He knew an angel could see a demon’s real face, underneath the vessel, but he’d never really asked any demons what _they_ saw when they looked at the world, and he’d never really thought to ask, either. “I get it,” he said quietly. “You love Cas. But this way you get to stay with him. Remember? We cure you, you get to stay on Earth. With Cas. Which is what you want.”

His arms were aching, both from the trial and all the times he’d drawn blood. He just wanted to rest. To put his head down and sleep. No. He had to keep going. Had to. He picked up another syringe, fighting the urge to collapse to the ground as he drew another vial ready.

“Would it be possible, Moose… I'd like… to ask you a - a favour, Sam... earlier, when you were confessing back there… what did you say? I only ask because, given my history…” he paused. He had done things… _terrible_ things. If he was doomed to live a mortal life, no doubt he’d die at some point. If he died… “..it raises the question... where do I start… to even _look_ for forgiveness? I mean…” He looked up at Sam, his eyes searching the Hunter’s face, hopeful for an answer. Was forgiveness even an option for him? And what about Cas? Was there any hope for the two of them if Crowley was mortal? Of course, there would be while he was on Earth, but…

Sam knew what he meant, of course. What would stop him repeating the same mistakes all over again? Just because he would no longer be a demon… no one really knew what would happen after that. Would he remain inside this meatsuit? What about the original inhabitant? Would he survive? If he did, when he died, what… what next? But Cas had said, over and over, that Crowley was different. And he was, in a way. Capable of love, it seemed. Not just lust. The manic look in his eyes before hadn’t been purely physical in nature, not by a long shot. And he’d helped them, too. Helped them even when it had been somewhat against his best interests. Could he… could he change? 

A tongue that flickered out over his lips, and he held the syringe between them, staring Crowley straight in the eye for once. “How about we start with this?” he asked, levelly. 

Crowley said nothing more, he only tilted his head to the side to allow the injection. He barely flinched as Sam did it this time. His mind was racing. What did all this mean? What was going to happen to him? He just wanted it to be over and done with. He wanted to see Castiel, to hold him close and hear his heart beating as Crowley snuggled close against the angel’s chest. 

Instead of seeing the angel’s bright eyes and his beautiful, beautiful Grace, Crowley was forced to continue to stare at the worn wood of the old church. The wood reminded him of the bench they had sat on in Perth. His lip quivered and his closed his eyes tightly to try to keep from crying and looking like a blubbering fool right there in front of Sam. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop the tears. He missed Cas. He missed him _so much_. The only thing he wanted to do was hold his angel. The fact that he couldn’t hurt him in place so deep inside he had forgotten he was ever capable of feeling pain like this… it **hurt**... like he had fallen into a darkness that held unspeakable evil. Like he was in the deepest depths of Hell.


	91. Chapter 91

Kevin dialled Dean, and waited until he picked up, pen tapping at his teeth as he thought through the notes some more. 

“Hey, Dean.”

“Hey, Kevin. What’s up?”

“ _I think I found the angel trials, but I don't see anything about a Nephilim or a Cupid's bow or anything like that_ ….”

The seraph and the Hunter were walking through a parking lot, ready to move just as soon as they had the next target. “Oh, come on, Kev! We're on the one-yard line here.” Now was not the time to take it slow.

“ _Okay, a-and I should have mentioned this six months ago, but the sports metaphors? Y-you want to motivate me, ‘Magic’ cards, ‘Skyrim,’ Aziz Ansari_ …” But not the arrow to the knee jokes. Those were so old they were practically Dean’s age.

Dean scrunched his face in confusion. “What? Yeah, I don't know what those words mean.”

From behind them came a flap of wings, and when Cas turned… it was to come face to face to Naomi. He growled low in his throat, ready to leap between her and Dean.

“I'm not here to fight you, Castiel,” the female angel said.

Dean turned around when he heard the familiar voice of Naomi, dropping the phone down to his side.

Kevin’s voice could be heard on the other end: “ _Dean_?”

“...not anymore,” she added, hastily.

“ _Dean?_ ”

“Where is Metatron?” Cas asked, not believing her for one minute. Not after what she’d try to do to him. He could still remember the endless seas of dead Sams, Deans, Cecilys, Megs...

“He told you he was going to fix Heaven, didn't he?” she asked. “Murdering a Nephilim, cutting off a Cupid's bow - it's a lie, all of it. I've been in his head.”

“You've been in all our heads. That's the problem.” His eyes narrowed at her in anger. He could remember all the things Crowley had threatened to do to her, too, and he wished above all else that his King could be here right now to wreak the bloody vengeance on her he’d sworn. 

Dean was just standing still, unsure what he could do, if anything. He decided against anything for the moment and just listened to the two angels talk it out.

“No, Castiel, you're wrong.”

The seraph shook his head, completely ignoring Dean for the moment. “This is what you do. You twist things. I'm trying to fix Heaven. Metatron is trying to fix Heaven.” They were. They _were_. Metatron seemed to be the only other angel who gave a rat’s ass about Heaven any more, and Cas needed… he needed to put things right. So badly it **hurt**.

“Metatron isn't trying to fix anything,” she insisted, her voice begging him to understand. “He's trying to break it; an act of revenge for driving him away.”

Dean was sure Kevin was listening just as intently as he was. “Break it how?”

Oh no. No, no, no. This was what she did. She whispered little lies into your ear, she whispered them over, and over, and over until you caved under the weight of them. She was evil. **Wicked**. “Dean,” he said, warningly. 

“...expel all angels from Heaven, just as God cast out Lucifer,” Naomi explained.

The Hunter narrowed his eyes at her. “Cast you out? To where? Hell?”

She shook her head no. “Here,” Naomi explained. “Thousands of us, walking the Earth.”

Was there no end to her deceptions? Was there no line she would not cross? Was her evil, wicked, horrible, nasty plan so important that she would risk Heaven itself? Why would no one else ever think of the greater good? Cas wanted to knife her, straight through her vessel’s heart. “Lies.” He made to attack her, his angel blade in hand and primed.

Dean moved quickly, grabbing Castiel’s arm to stop him. “Wait!”

Naomi understood why he was acting like this, though she wished he wouldn’t. She supposed he had no reason to trust her, but it was the truth. “Our mission was to protect what God created. I don't know when we forgot that. I want nothing more than to see you shut the Gates of Hell, but I told you that you could trust me. If Sam completes those trials, he is going to die.”

Oh, fuck. “What the Hell are you talking about, you bitch? We’re talkin’ about getting rid of Abaddon.” 

She frowned at Dean. “Really? Who told you that what you are doing will kill Abaddon? And… I saw it in Metatron's head. It was always God's intention: the ultimate sacrifice. As for you, Castiel, I beg of you, stop this path. Metatron has been neutralized. If you want back in, truly, I will listen.”

She did not wait around for their answer, leaving with a flap of her wings.

Dean turned his back to Castiel. He was certain the angel would have too many questions, so he focused on Kevin. “Hey, right now, talk to me. Is she lying?”

“ _I don't know_.”

“Well, find out!” Dean snapped. This was all going wrong. Really, really wrong.

“She's lying.” Cas insisted. She had to be. “What about Hell, Dean? Why would she say you were trying to close Hell? Is that what you and Sam are doing? I thought we were not going to lie any more. I thought we agreed.”

“Take me to him. It’s an abandoned church just outside the city.”

“...fine. But… Dean. Promise me you’re not doing what she said you’re doing. And if you are… you must stop. We will find another way to deal with Abaddon. Any other way than that.”

The Hunter didn’t respond to anything Cas said. There was no time. It had been almost eight hours since they had started this crap, and Dean was beyond impatient. “Take me to him _now_!”

***

It hurt to see Crowley crying. It hurt a damn lot. Sam wasn’t really prepared for that, for how this was making him feel, too. 

“Hey… hey.” He waited until he’d got his attention, his voice soft and low.

Crowley looked up the youngest Winchester, eyes glazed over and red. “What?” He was really hoping it wouldn’t be some snarky comment about how-- _no_ , he thought to himself. He didn’t want to think about that because just the mere _thought_ of that was enough to make him teary-eyed all over again.

“Look. We picked you for a reason, you know? We could’ve taken any old demon. Probably easier with someone less powerful and old than you. But we picked you. You know why?”

“Because you both hate me and want to see me suffer?”

Sam snorted in tired amusement. Even now he was fighting. “No, Crowley. Because of Cas. Because he believed in you. He always believed in you. He was arguing your corner right back when. And if an angel thinks you’re worth the saving…” A shrug.

Crowley was unable to stop the next burst of tears that sprang from his eyes. His angel had stood up for him… in front of the bloody Winchesters. Believing in him and fighting for him even when he wasn’t there. _Worth saving_. Crowley hardly agreed with the sentiment, but it was comforting to know that Cas thought he was. He tried to cover his face with his hands - not like it’d make a difference. It was obvious that the King of Hell was breaking down in tears over this whole ordeal.

“Hey… hey. C’mon now. Hold it together, man. We’re nearly done. We’re nearly through, and then you can start over, yeah? I mean… he’s gotta like you more cured than as a demon, right?” Sam wasn’t sure if he should make contact or not, but the heartbreak was just so fucking… overpowering… that he put a hand on his shoulder, reassuringly. “It’s better this way. And with no Hell, you can just… whatever. Do whatever you want with him, with no strings attached. Watch all your dumb shows and eat all the cookies you want. Right?”

“That’s what you don’t _get_ ,” Crowley snapped. “Castiel is different, too. He loves me. He loves me just the way I am - or… **was**. Demon or not! And no, Sam, I can’t do whatever I want with him, no strings attached, because there’s a huge string attached now in the form of _not being a demon_. Don’t you get it? You and your bloody _moron_ of a brother have stolen that forever from me! You have damned me all over again!”

Sam pulled his hand back, stung. “No, Crowley. If you’re damned, it’s because you do bad things. No one can damn _you_ , but you. This is a clean slate. A chance to start over. You say you love him? Wouldn’t you want to try to be something good for him? Like, if you could do it all over? Isn’t that… isn’t that what love is?”

“You. Don’t. Know. What love _is_. You don’t know _anything_ about our relationship, so quit pretending you do. This isn’t Dr. Phil. This is the story of two brothers who are stupidly co-dependent on each other that their views on reality are fucking skewed. Stop pretending you know me! Stop pretending you’re trying to help me! I don’t need your help, Moose!”

Fine. Fine. Stupid demon didn’t know a good thing when it stared him right in the face. Maybe he’d been wrong, to see things there… he’d really thought they were making progress. He’d really thought they were getting somewhere. He’d thought for sure that Cas would be the key to this, to getting him to come around. Maybe the demon was just too stubborn, or maybe he was too set in his ways. Here was salvation in a few shots of blood, a few words… and a chance to start all over again. Of course he wouldn’t want it.

“From where I’m sitting… you do,” he insisted, as calmly as he could. “Yeah, Cas loves you. But don’t you think he’d love you more if you got rid of all the baggage? Don’t you think he’d be happy to see you fixed? New? Pure? C’mon, man. You got a chance no one else ever gets. You get to do it all over, better. How is that not something you want?”

Crowley thought for a moment. Maybe Sam was right…? Besides, it wasn’t as though he had a choice in the matter, might as well finish what they had started. “...fine.”

Well, it was better than nothing. Crowley - as he’d said - was old. Set in his ways. It was probably more than he could hope for, to have him willingly submit to this. “It’ll be okay, Crowley. It will. We’ll help you, I promise…” He sunk the last needle in, and when it was done, he started to say the words of the spell to cleanse him.

“ _Exorcizamus te,_  
 _Omnis immundus spiritus,_  
 _Hanc animam redintegra… lustra_...”

The words were said. Sam chucked the book off to the side, and pulled out his knife. There was only one step left to finish this spell, one more thing to make the King of Hell human, and to seal every other black- or red-eyed sonofabitch up for good. Earth, without demons. It would finally happen. He pushed the tip of the knife into his palm, ignoring the agony because the orange glowing mark from the trials hurt a hundredfold more. He looked up, meeting Crowley’s eyes, letting him know it was time.

Dean and Castiel arrived just outside of the church. Dean said nothing, not a word of thanks, not encouragement for the angel’s own trials, nothing. He just ran inside the church as fast as he could. He barely heard Cas yelling out to him.

“Dean, I'm not wrong. I'm going to fix my home… but don’t seal Hell. For Sam’s sake, but mine, too. Just… don’t.” Metatron’s voice over the ‘angel radio’ was deafening. His name, over and over. Cas knew he had to go. “Just… _don’t_.” 

He never knew what was in the church. The anti-angelic warding, combined with the heavily trapped restraints kept him from sensing his King inside. He would never have left if he’d known the truth. Never.

Dean shook his head at the angel, rushing into the church. He turned his attention to his brother on the other side of the room, his arm glowing orange. “Sammy, stop!” He held his hands up in a placatory fashion. “Easy there. Okay. Just take it easy… we got a slight change of plan…”

“What?” Sam paused, but he didn’t want to stop. He frowned at Dean. “What's going on? Where's Cas?! Didn’t he bring you here?”

“Didn’t he-- _Cas_ brought you here?” Crowley interjected loudly. “Where the bloody Hell is he? Bring him to me! Bring him to me _right now_! I demand it!”

Dean chose to ignore the whining King and focus of the more important pieces right now. He grabbed Sam by the arm, dragging him outside as Crowley bucked and pulled at the restraints with every ounce of energy he could muster. 

Once they were out of the church, standing in the grounds and out of earshot, he continued. “Metatron lied. You finish this trial, you're dead, Sam.”

Sam had guessed that might be possible. He felt the worst he’d ever felt. But… good, too. Like it was a good pain. The kind of pain that came from excising something nasty. Surgical. Healing. He was so close, now. So very close. Just one last step and this would all be over. For him, and for Crowley. “So?”

***

At Metatron’s cry, Cas flew up to Naomi’s office. What he wasn’t expecting to see though, was the female angel dead. She was sprawled, lifeless, her head resting on the desk he’d grown to hate, with a drill rising like some grotesque flower from the back of her skull. It was horrible. Horrible. He found, even as much as he hated her, that this was a step too far, a line he did not think should be crossed. And also - unbidden - came the thought: ‘Well Crowley will be angry he could not take his revenge’.

Metatron was waiting for the angel to show up, counting on him focusing on Naomi in the pool of blood on her own desk. Castiel turned around, only to be greeted by Metatron's angel blade against his neck.

The Scribe let the cool metal of the blade rest gently against Castiel's throat. "She told you I lied, didn't she?" A grin. "You should've listened to the bitch."

In one swift movement, Castiel was in the chair, strapped in place by restraints bearing Enochian binding magic. Metatron knew them all, knew all the words of power. One of the perks of being the Scribe, of course.

“You promised,” Cas said, betrayal colouring his tone. How could he? How could… he?

Metatron slammed the seraph's head back against the chair's head rest. "Shh! Castiel, I want you to stop thinking about master plans, Heaven and angels, and all this. That doesn't concern you anymore.”

The seraph struggled as Metatron held his head back in the chair, his eyes wide with fear. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t escape. No! No. Oh god, how could he have been so foolish as to believe anyone would care about Heaven but himself? The angel blade over his throat stung in a way nothing else could, and though he couldn’t see the bright, glowing drip of his Grace… he could feel it. The bastard was grinning broadly at his handiwork, and all Cas could think was he should have listened to Naomi. Damnit. Where was Crowley? Why was there no one who could save him?

"These were never trials, Castiel. This is a spell,” Metatron went on. “And what I'm taking from you now - your essence, your **Grace** \- is the last piece."

The Scribe held a small glass vial up to Castiel's neck, the Grace swirling into it curiously. Metatron placed his palm over Castiel's throat, wiping away any trace of a cut... or blood... or Grace, and he smiled.

"And now something wonderful is going to happen, for me and for you. I want you to live this new life to the fullest. Find a wife. Make babies. And when you die and your soul comes to Heaven, find me... tell me your story."

“No,” the angel rasped. “Metatron, please…” He was going to ruin Heaven. And he was going to make Castiel… human? Powerless? Weak? He didn’t want to be human. He wanted to be an angel. He wanted to be an angel, and to live with Crowley forever. But like this… like this… his eyes were begging.

Metatron removed his hand from Castiel's throat. "Now go," he grinned. The all-too familiar white light emanated from the Scribe's palm as he placed it on Castiel's forehead, casting him down to the Earth below.


	92. Chapter 92

Crowley’s wrists and neck _hurt_ with every tug , every buck, every move he made trying to free himself. Castiel had brought Dean here. He had been **right there**. Those bloody morons had kept them apart. No doubt they hadn’t breathed a word of it to his angel. If they had…

_Oh, if only_... Crowley was all but vibrating. His angel had stood **so close** and now he was… well, who knew where he was. Who knew if he’d ever see him ag--

No. That was not an option. The only option was to get to Castiel. _Nothing_ else mattered. The intrusive thoughts of getting to Castiel mixed right alongside the thoughts of never seeing him again were enough to send Crowley over the edge. He was still fighting his restraints, only now doing it through blurry eyes as tears streamed down his face. 

What the bloody Hell were those idiots doing outside? Didn’t they _know_? Didn’t they know how badly Crowley needed Cas, now more than ever? It was one thing to fuck around with closing the gates of Hell, it was another to fuck around with true love. 

Crowley stopped moving abruptly as a terrible, terrible thought crossed his mind. What if--

_What if they’d killed Castiel_?

Logically, it made no sense, but Crowley was far from logic at the moment and the only thing he could see was Castiel, his angel, his love, trying to storm into the church to save his King and fucking Sam and Dean Winchester holding him back and stabbing him in the gut. He was all but blinded by the imaginary white light that emitted from his angel just outside the doors. His body falling limp and lifeless… Graceless… and Crowley unable to do anything for the bloodied shackles holding him back.

“No.” His voice startled him. It wasn’t his usual tone. It was flat, shaky, full of fear and overcome with _pain_. “No… **NO**!” 

The King of Hell bucked and fought with the chair so hard that ended up on his side, still strapped down to the bloody thing as he screamed _no_ over and over again. 

What were the Hunters doing anyway? Salting and burning the body of Crowley’s beloved Castiel? They certainly weren’t trying to pay the demon any attention. He was out of breath, exhausted. His tears slowed long enough for him to realise he had created the entire scene in his head. It didn’t make it hurt any less… although, the thought of Castiel still being alive _was_ comforting.

If Cas was still alive, Crowley would find him. Whatever it took. He had to find him.

He wasn’t going to give up on his angel.

***

Outside the church, Sam was fuming. “Look at him. Look at him! Look how close we are! Other people will die if I don't finish this! He’s ready, Dean. He’s ready to do it. How can I stop now?”

Dean was _pissed_ that Sam would just throw his life away like this. Like it meant nothing. Like everything he had done to protect his little brother was meaningless.

No. He couldn't let him. Not at all. "Think about it. Think about what we know, huh? Pulling souls from Hell, curing demons… Hell, ganking a Hellhound! We have enough knowledge on our side to turn the tide here. But I can't do it without you."

Sam snorted in derision. “You can barely do it _with_ me. I mean, you think I screw up everything I try. You think I need a chaperone, remember?” Holding his hand, every step of the way. He’d always felt the weight of being the younger brother, but recently? Since the trials? It had been worse. So much worse. 

Dean scoffed. "Come on, man. That's not what I meant."

“No, it's exactly what you meant,” Sam snapped right back at him. “You want to know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was? It was how many times I _let you down_. I can't do that again.” Every time weighed on him so heavily. Every thing he’d done that had made Dean think he was a dead weight, a loser, or worse… **wrong**. Boy with the demon blood. Boy who killed his mom. Boy who opened the Cage. Boy who was meant to be Lucifer’s vessel. He knew Dean resented the things he’d done wrong, of course he did. And here was his chance to redeem, just as much as it was Crowley’s. Dean couldn’t stop them. It wasn’t right.

Dean shook his head, no, no, no. Sam was taking this all wrong. "Sam--"

No. No. He wasn’t just going to sit back, not now. “What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again? I mean, who are you gonna turn to next time instead of me? Another angel, or… a demon, again? This is curing me, Dean. Curing me. It’s taking all the bad shit out of me and setting it right. So what if it kills me? It’s worth it… for everyone.”

Dean held a hand up. "Hold on, hold on... You seriously think that? Because none of it - none of it - is true. Listen, man, I know we've had our disagreements, okay? Hell, I know I've said some shit that set you back on your heels. But, Sammy... come on." His tone was pleading, hopeful that Sam would understand. "I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed Mom walk because of _you_. Don't you **dare** think that there is **anything** , past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, _ever_! I need you to see that... I'm begging you."

Please, Sammy. Please.

But… Hell. And… all the things he’d done. This was Sam’s ticket out of it all, this was his way to end the pain, stop fucking up, and get the rest he deserved. He wanted, but Dean… his hand clenched, blood dripping uselessly to the ground, the glow in his arm still bright. “...how do I stop?”

Dean didn't take his eyes of Sam's. "Just _let it go_."

“I can't… It's in me, Dean. You don't know what this feels like.” It burned, oh god it burned. It’d been getting steadily worse with every passing hour, and now it was all but unbearable. He didn’t know how he’d keep going, honestly he didn’t. 

Dean pulled out a bandana from his pocket and wrapped it carefully around the wound on Sam's arm. "Hey, listen. We'll figure it out, okay? Just like we always do... come on."

The older Winchester didn't wait for a response before wrapping his arms around his little brother, hugging him tightly. "Come on... let it go, okay? Let it go, brother."

Dean grinned as the glow was already fading. _Awesome_.

"See?"

But the pain was too much, and Sam felt his legs give way underneath him, the ground somehow rushing up towards him. Oh god, it would be a mercy just to let him go...

Dean reached out for the younger Winchester, kneeling down, keeping him close. "Sam? I got you, little brother. You're gonna be just fine." But Sam was a dead weight in his arms, collapsing with a low, hurt moan.

"Sam, Sam?" But no response. He couldn't think of anything else to do so he yelled as loud as he could. "Cas?!"

The only response was Sammy wheezing. No no no... NO! "Castiel?! Where the Hell are you?!"

***

Cas wasn’t sure how he landed on the Earth safely, but he assumed he should probably consider himself ‘thankful’ that he did. He was… he was. Human. He was human now. Not an angel, not a seraph, not a being of celestial intent curled inside an empty, perfect vessel.

It was a vessel no more… now it was his _body_. It was him, in the same way that a human’s body was _theirs_. And it felt different, he could tell. The world seemed somehow so much more, and so much less, all at once. Less in that the way he’d perceived it… now that was all gone. He’d been able to see things a human couldn’t: the particles in the air scattered throughout, even if the sun was not there to illuminate them, the heat from the life that teemed all around, the way the divine souls sparked inside of a breast… it was like, suddenly, being blind. Like having the senses he’d long since relied on rudely removed from underneath him, turning the world strange and new.

And then there was the _human_ aspect to it. Where before his angelic side had seamlessly integrated all of the sensory input, now it was like some horrific cacophony. The light was too bright and it hurt his eyes. The sounds of cars in the distant were grating and horrible, and they seemed indistinguishable from the noise of birds in the trees. Even the _temperature_. It assaulted his skin like some unholy blanket of lukewarm fire, like the way he could feel all the stitching in his clothing, in his shoes. It crowded in on him and it was all much, much too much. He wanted to scream in horror, but he couldn’t.

Cas whirled on his heels, trying to get his bearings. Above, he could see the bright lights of - no. Oh, no. _Angels_. He could see angels falling like shooting stars, and when he felt ill this time it was an overwhelming sensation of being aware of every last drop of bile in his stomach, swirling when he moved. It was only fortunate that he had nothing inside of him to eject. 

But worst of all was the knowledge that he’d fucked up. He’d… he’d ruined Heaven. All those angels falling because of him, and now he… now he was human. Dejected, he lowered his head. Inside his pocket, he could feel the phone bump into his thigh, heavily. 

...Crowley. 

He wanted to call him, he did. He pulled out the phone and stared at it. He was… he was human, now. What would Crowley think of that? Would he… would he be angry? Disappointed? He was no longer bright, eternal, or powerful. He was just the same as any other mortal… no. Worse. Cas had no idea how to really _be_ a human. He’d scraped by in the world as best he could, but this was something new. Would Crowley look at him and forever see what he’d been, what he’d lost? Not to mention… now. Now he… now he would… in a few years, or one wrong move and he…

Crowley had not returned any of his calls. Not one. No text messages or anything, and that was _before_. Something had gone wrong, and he felt like a dick for even worrying about himself when he had no idea where his demon King even **was**. Had Sam and Dean already sealed off Hell? Was he cut off from him forever? If so… would the only way to find him again be to… be to… _sin_? 

He held the phone in a shaking hand, tapping out a quick message.

‘ _Crowley. I need you. I need you really badly. Please tell me you are okay. I need to talk to you as soon as I can. Please reply. I love you. I’m so worried._ ’

He wanted to weep with frustration, but somehow it just… wouldn’t come. He was still a bit too numb to cry.

Another text, this time to someone who _should_ reply.

‘ _Dean. Please tell me that you did not seal off Hell. I need to speak to you. I need to find Crowley. Metatron tricked me, and something terrible has happened. Please… I need you to get me.’_

Not that he knew where on Earth he was. Literally. He didn’t have the slightest clue, and it was… terrifying.


	93. Chapter 93

“You just… sit tight, alright?” Dean said, pushing his brother into the passenger’s seat of the Impala. “We’ll work it out. Just… bear with me, Sammy. It’s gonna be fine. Trust me.”

Sam nodded meekly, head dropping back onto the seat rest. He was - by all accounts - dead to the world.

When he went back into the church, it was to see Crowley slumped in the chair they’d bound him to, which he’d toppled over, head lowered, staring down at his hands. His hands which were cuffed before him. There was blood all over them, and his jacket was a mess. What the Hell had they been up to? Why did some of the paint on the floor look fresher, and why were there scuff marks all over? He looked… he looked broken. The raging had gone out of him again, leaving in its wake this sad, lonely-looking… demon. Not man. Demon. Dean had to remind himself of that, because without the trials completed he was just the same as ever. Except… less inclined to be nice, now.

“He… isn’t here, is he?” Crowley asked, without looking up. 

“Cas?” Dean asked, then shook his head no.

“I… okay. Sam said… I thought maybe…”

“He’s off fixing Heaven,” Dean replied.

Crowley stayed slumped over, and Dean wondered if he was crying again. His face looked like he had been, with tear-tracks through the blood and dirt. He’d known it was going to be difficult, but… well. Maybe not this difficult.

“We’re… we’re stopping,” Dean said. “We ain’t going through with it. You’re not getting turned human, and Hell isn’t getting sealed up.”

“Why?”

“Look. It’s over, alright? But Sammy’s pretty hurt.”

Crowley snorted. “Is he? Oh. Poor baby. Poor baby Moose, stinging from all the righteous work.”

“Well… can you help him?”

That got Crowley’s attention. He snapped his head up (yes, he had been crying, his eyes were red and swollen) and he _glared_. “Where. Is. My. Angel.”

“I told you. Heaven. Look… just fix Sam, alright?”

Crowley’s laugh was broken and not pleasant. “Why the fuck should I help you, or your brother, Dean? You dragged me here against my will, when I’ve done nothing but help you… you tricked me, you threatened to **cure** me, you violated me, and you treated me like I was some kind of tool for your latest sick misadventure. You never asked me if I wanted this, you never gave me a choice, and then you have the gall to say you’re trying to _help_ me, like you can guilt-trip me into - what? Stockholm Syndrome? I want. My. **Angel**. Get me Cas _right frigging NOW_.”

“You stupid fucking… we **were** trying to help you. But things have changed, alright? So… c’mon. Mojo him better, and we’ll spring you, and then we can all find Cas together.”

“ **ANGEL** ,” Crowley snarled. “Get me my angel. I’m never, **ever** trusting you **or** your sad excuse for a beanpole brother, **ever** again. You faithless sack of shit--”

Dean socked Crowley straight across the jaw, hissing in pain. It did, at least, shut the demon up.

“...damnit.”

***

Cas could still hear them. Why could he still hear them? All the voices, all the needy voices crying out to be saved. All the confused prayers, and the chattering of his siblings, some of whom had never even been to Earth before. He wandered down the side of the road, oblivious until the rumbling of the pick-up truck was unmistakable, and then - just before it was too late - he threw himself to the ground. 

He heard the trick pulling up, and the sound of the man coming over, but all he could do was stare down at his hand in shock: the skin was broken, and there were little flecks of stone between the hurt that marred his palm, now. He’d bled before, of course, but it had never felt quite like this. It was a shock to the system. How did humans manage this?

The man bent down a bit, hands resting on his knees as he looked at Castiel. "Hey buddy... you okay?"

“It hurts.” It did. It was really quite… something. Sharp and stinging, somehow… pure and clean, the feeling. Very strong, and not confused with anything else. For a moment, he could lose himself in the simplicity of it, the sounds of his clamouring siblings dying down as he peered at the blood which was pooling in the cracks of his hand.

The man looked back towards the truck for just a moment before focusing on Cas once more. "What the Hell you doing in the middle of the road like that?"

Cas looked up at him. “I heard angels.” All of them. All at once, crying out in horror and fear. All because of him.

"... how about we get you some water, hmm?"

The ser-- the man frowned. “I, uh, I don't drink water.” 

The driver of the truck frowned. "Dehydration's a real bitch up here, mister."

“Phone,” he said instead, suddenly panicked. “My phone…” He reached into his pocket, but when he pulled it out, it… oh. It was still in one piece, but the screen was shattered, the innards were all showing, and… it really wasn’t useable. He tried to turn it on, but it just wouldn’t… he held it loosely in his hand, despondent.

The driver looked up towards the sky. "Man, I’m sorry… I’d lend you mine, but… no signal up here..." He focused his attention back on Castiel. "How about a lift, hm?"

“Yes. Good. I would fly, but I – I have no wings, not anymore.” Instead it was this gaping… nothing where once they had been. He felt… useless. 

The man nodded slowly. “Right…”

***

Dean made his way into a church - one that wasn’t decrepit and about to fall to pieces with a Devil’s Trap painted on the floor and he sat down in an empty pew. He put his hands on his head. He needed Cas, damnit. Everything was fucked all to Hell and it was _his_ fault. He’d listened to all the frantic voicemails, but when he called back, when he texted… nothing. So. This was his last resort.

He spoke quietly to himself. “Cas, are you there? Sammy's hurt. He's hurt, uh… he's hurt pretty bad. And, um... I know you think that I'm pissed at you, okay? But I don't care that the angels fell. So whatever you did or didn't do, it doesn't matter, okay? We'll work it out. Please, man, _I need you here_.”

The Hunter looked around at the handful of people in the pews… but no Castiel. 

Sammy needed help. Sammy needed help _fast_. “Screw it. Okay, listen up. This one goes out to any angel with their ears on. This is Dean Winchester... and I need your help. The deal is this: Linwood Memorial Hospital… Randolph, New York. The first one who can help me gets my help in return, and you know that ain't nothin'. Hell, it's no secret that we haven't always seen eye to eye. And, uh, I wouldn't be asking’ if I wasn't needing’, so…” He trailed off, knowing that everything that needed to be said had been. He looked back down at the floor as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

He couldn’t lose Sammy. Not now.

***

Cas could hear Dean calling, but he had no way to get in touch. Not without his own phone, and not without his new friend’s phone having a signal, either. He sat in as close to silence as he could as they drove up to the gas station, and he carefully got out.

“Hey.” The pick-up driver leaned over, holding out some bills.

“No, I can't take your money.” He couldn’t. It felt wrong.

“For the phone. Seeing as yours is busted and I’m at least part to blame. And a sandwich, if they have one.”

“It's okay. I don't eat.” But… phone calls… “Thank you. I… I will. Would you give me your details, so that I can repay you?”

“No need, man. Like I said: it’s my fault. Just you watch yourself, okay? If you’re - uh - hearing angels, might wanna get yourself checked out. Take care, kid.”

Castiel walked over to the phone booth, where a big, bulky biker was already using it. He did not notice the young woman seated in a car, watching him. 

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” The biker was nodding in agreement, even though the other person would not see.

The ex-angel frowned, trying to see if he was about to finish. It did not look like it. “Excuse me,” he said, as politely as he could, considering the rising panic. “Please would you hang up the phone?”

“Right,” the man, said, then covered the handset and turned to face Castiel. “Excuse me? I’m kinda busy right now.”

“Please,” Cas said, trying to convey the urgency with his tone. “This is an emergency. I don't want to hurt you.”

The boker turned back to the phone. “Hold on, hon.” Then he looked Castiel up and down. He was tall-ish, and not lean, but he didn’t look like much of a fighter. “I said, I’m busy. You really think I’m scared of a runt like you? Hurt me.”

“I'm sorry,” said the once-angel of the Lord, and he meant it. He reached up with two fingers and glanced them to the man’s head. But… no. Nothing. He grabbed hold of his head, trying to find his power so he could just… stop him. Not kill him, just stun him. Nothing happened, and he was so shocked he did not even resist when the man knocked his arm away.

“I'm gonna finish this call. Then I'm gonna deal with you. Teach you some manners.”

Fine. Great. Okay. No flying, no healing, no fighting with Grace… there was a lot of things different. He supposed he would have to actually hurt the biker. He still knew how to fight, he was sure. Maybe a little slower, but… suddenly there was a young woman in front of him, and he stopped short.

“I know you,” she told him.

“I don't think so.” He did not recognise her, and his memory still seemed to be intact. Also, he knew that Jimmy Novak had been absent for a long time, now, so the chances of it being his body she recognised were also slim. And he could always pretend he simply looked similar to him, which in some respects was actually the truth.

“Castiel,” she said. “We met in Heaven. My name is Hael.”

Ah. Right. No one but an angel would know to impersonate one, surely? Unless she was a demon. A demon under Abaddon’s control, perhaps, because none of Crowley’s would ever deceive him. Not… and survive. “You're an angel.” He would play along for now, just in case.

Hael looked somewhat distressed. “Am I? What's an angel without its wings?”

What indeed, Cas thought.


	94. Chapter 94

Dean figured he should get some fresh air so he made his way downstairs to the parking garage. Might as well check on Crowley while he was outside. He stood at the back end of the Impala, one hand resting on the trunk. “Crowley, listen up, you son of a bitch. One for yes, two for no. You alive?” Dean rolled his eyes when there was no response. “Come on, don't be a pouter.”

Don’t be a pouter? Really, Dean? A pouter? Stuck in a car trunk, chained and gagged and cramped and pumped full of Moose blood and _don’t be a pouter_? To point out how ridiculous he was, he knocked twice. No, I am not alive, and your plans are the fucking stupidest in the whole of creation, Dean.

Dean snorted. “There we go.”

Before Dean could pull away to open the car up, though, a man in a sharp suit jumped in behind him, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, pressing the business end of an angel blade across his throat. “You prayed?”

Dean eyed the man carefully with a frown. “Yeah, for help.”

“Yes. You'll be helping me,” he explained, bending Dean right over the Impala’s trunk. “If you lie to me, Dean Winchester, I will rip your throat out. Where is Castiel?”

Dean’s face was pressed against the car, but it didn’t stop him from being a smart-ass. “Who's askin’?”

Yes, thought the demon on just the other side of the thin sheet of metal and plastic. Where the Hell was Castiel? He thunked once, twice, thrice against the inside of the car with his head because it would make the loudest noise right now, to indicate ‘I’m fucking asking too, you idiotic squirrel, don’t tell this piece of shit, tell me’.

“Try every angel who was ejected from their home,” the man said, frowning at the noisy car. Why was it making those sounds?

Dean would’ve loved to open up that trunk and punch that piece of shit in his face _again_ , but currently, more pressing matters were at hand. “Oh… oh, well, in that case... I have no clue.” He gave the man a wide, sarcastic smile.

That was not the answer he wanted, and Dean was slammed against the trunk twice in quick succession. The knife was raised, ready to do serious damage, when someone caught the angel’s hand from behind. The someone in question was a tall, thin man with a serious expression and casual clothing.

“Easy there, brother,” the tall man said, his voice very soft and careful, his words chosen with great consideration. “This young man has prayed for our assistance. Are we creatures of wrath or compassion? I would argue the latter.”

“Forgive me, brother. I don't recognise you,” the angel in the suit said to the other.

“Happy to make your re-acquaintance.” He looked pointedly at the still-drawn blade. “After you disarm.”

The first angel let go of Dean, his hands held up in a peaceful, conciliatory fashion… but then he landed a round punch to the second angel. Dean stood back, letting the two angels duke it out. He was not trying to get in the middle of a Heavenly brawl… not this time.

“Come, now. Is that any way to treat a brother injured in the fall?”

The first angel seemed intent on doing an injury, though, and he charged over to the second. The angel blade fell to the ground, skittering out of each, and then the first threw the second into a car. The angel slid over the bonnet, shattering through the windshield.

Dean grabbed the blade from the ground, stabbing the one in the suit. Blinding white light poured out of him before he fell to the ground, lifeless. The Hunter looked at the one still standing. “Who are you?”

The fight had hurt, and the angel was still bloodied. “Never mind me,” he insisted. “You're Dean Winchester. I heard your prayer, and I am here to help.” But he seemed in no fit state to do that, because he promptly lost consciousness, sliding from the car to the ground.

Confused as to what the Hell was going on, Crowley started to kick with renewed vigour inside the Impala, demanding to be let out right _now_.

_God. Damnit_. Dean opened the trunk to see what the **fuck** Crowley’s problem was. “Do you mind? I’m trying to get help here!”

Crowley glowered over the tape stuck to his mouth, and gestured as much as he could with his cuffed hands. Get with the program, Dean-o.

Dean rolled his eyes - probably a bit over-dramatically - and yanked the tape off Crowley’s mouth _hard_. “ **What** ,” he growled.

“Well for one thing,” Crowley snapped, the minute the tape was off, “... _ow_ , and could you maybe give me somewhere with a _little_ more leg-room? I know I’m not the Moose, but a demon’s got needs, too. And for two? The Hell are you thinking, dealing with random feathery fuckers? Where the Hell is Castiel? Why are you messing about with angels you _don’t know_?”

“ _First of all_ , quit your bitchin’. You got plenty of leg room. And for two,” he said, mocking the demon. “Mind your own fuckin’ business.”

Amber eyes narrowed in rage. “Really? You’re the one kidnapping me, and forcing unpleasant, life-altering procedures on me, and when I have the _decency_ to point out that playing with _angels you don’t know_ \- and God only knows where they’ve been! - and not only that, they don’t even **recognise one another**... Am I the only one who sees the problem with this plan? I know you regularly make dumb-ass decisions, but Dean. For the love of everything… _get me the Hell out of this trunk_ and let me find Cas. If he’s… if what they said is true, then…”

“Oh you are somethin’ else, you know that? You will say damn near anything to save your own ass. Well guess what? I ain’t buyin’ it. And don’t worry about Cas. He’s fine.” ~~I hope, at least~~. “All you gotta worry about is keepin’ quiet until I figure out what exactly to do with you.”

“WHY IN THE HELL ARE YOU SO STUBBORN? WHY AM I EVEN TRYING TO GET IT THROUGH YOUR ABSOLUTELY NEANDERTHALIC SKULL? YOU ARE THE SINGLE MOST COMPELLING ARGUMENT AGAINST NATURAL SELECTION I HAVE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO MEET AND I MEET PEOPLE WHO SELL THEIR SOULS FOR A FEW EXTRA INCHES ON THEIR--”

_Enough_. Dean put the tape back over Crowley’s mouth. “Keep it up, you dick, and you’ll never be able to talk again.” Dean slammed the trunk shut. It was an empty threat, of course… for now… 

Dean moved around to drag the angel off the Impala and shove him into the backseat before he woke up. He was a big dude and it was not an easy task to get his giant vessel in the car by himself.

Inside the car, Crowley was devising the most painful and ironic way of murdering Dean he could imagine. He didn’t care if Cas still considered him a friend. This was now beyond the point of forgiveness. Maybe he should never have even tried in the first place, but he’d tried for Cas’ sake. But oh no. Dean the Asshat Winchester just had to… 

Crowley lashed out with his foot, slamming it through the brake light, sending glass splintering out. There. Now he’d hurt the idiot in his stupid penis metaphor. Now Dean was limp and suffered from erectile dysfunction. Yep. Served the fucker right.

***

Castiel sat side by side with Hael, close to the gas pumps. It was difficult to be confronted face to face with the evidence of his latest fuck up. Difficult to look at her earnest, yet worried expression. He’d done that. He’d ruined Heaven. He was only trying to help...

Hael looked up at the sky hoping maybe if she kept looking long enough, everything would melt away and Heaven would return. “It was a normal day, and then just... dark… and then I was just... falling.” She turned to look at Castiel. “How could that happen?”

“I don't know.” It was almost a lie. Almost. Alright. It was mostly a lie, but he couldn’t quite… say it aloud. Not yet. He couldn’t bear to see the disappointment and anger on her face if he did.

She studied Castiel for a moment. “Your Grace – it's... gone?”

Oh, it was gone. He could no longer see her true face, for instance. Even as Emmanuel he had been able to do that. He could not see the flickers of Heaven around her, nor her wings. He could not ignore the sensations of his body, and he could not use his God-given power to control, to inflict injury, or to render people unconscious. It was… gone. “I do still hear angel radio, though,” he said, because it was easier to talk about what he still had, instead of what he had lost.

She brightened up just the slightest bit. “Then you've heard them – our brothers and sisters? ...many still circling for vessels, most just... so afraid.” She looked Castiel in the eyes. The fear was there, in his eyes, too. She could see it. She wondered if he could see it in hers?

“There's nothing to be afraid of, I can assure you.” Fear would not help them, fear would only spread and escalate, and lead to… bad things. They would be afraid of Earth, but really… it was not as bad as they thought.

“But Heaven – there was order. There was purpose.” Hael wondered why the vessel’s memories wanted her to bite at her lips. How would that help? How would inflicting pain and damage assist with this strange world she found herself thrust into? 

“Well, believe it or not, there may be something even better down here.” 

“...I don't understand.”

“There's opportunity for you, the others who have fallen, to do finally do what you would like to do – not just what you've been told.” The freedom he had once tried to give them, which they had resisted with everything they had. The freedom to do good, and live… yes. Perhaps they could do that, now. Perhaps they would learn by living amongst the people the benefits of thinking for themselves? Could… could this be the jolt they needed? After all, Castiel had only learned freedom from the Winchesters, and then love… love from a demon. 

“And what would I like to do?” the other angel asked, unable to comprehend. You needed orders, to know what to do. That was how you knew what you wanted, because you were _told_.

“You tell me. If you could do anything, what would it be?”

After a moment’s hesitation, her eyes going blank as her thoughts went inside… “There's a place. I built it when I was last here – many years ago. A grand canyon.”

“The Grand Canyon, yes.” Castiel knew it, of course. It was pretty.

“I - I would like to see that,” she stammered. It was the only tie she had to this world, really. Heaven had been home, and Hael had never known any different.

Well, Cas thought. It was a start. She’d decided that on her own, and it would give her a real sense of accomplishment, perhaps? To see with human eyes what her hands had wrought. To see how the humans, too, admired it. Yes. It could work. It was… it was a detour, though. But perhaps if he got her started in the right direction, then he could leave her with a sense of purpose, and continue on his mission to find Crowley. 

“Yes, you should go see the Grand Canyon, then.”

***

The angel came to slowly, and when he found his bearings, it was to see he was in a circle of holy fire. Dean Winchester was pacing around the circumference, and the angel watched him calmly. 

“You want to help? Start with a name.”

Simple enough, and a reasonable request. “Ezekiel.”

“Alright, _Ezekiel_.” Dean stopped pacing for a moment, glaring at the angel. Couldn’t trust these dicks. “How do I know you're not hunting me or Castiel like the other angels?”

“Oh, I'm sure there are many angels who are…” Ezekiel agreed. “Many more are on their way here, most likely.”

“How do you know that?” The Hunter narrowed his eyes at the angel.

The angel frowned. Really? Did he not realise the danger he was in? “You put out an open prayer like that…”

“ _I must **really** be desperate_.”

Slowly, gingerly, the tall angel rose to his feet. “Believe it or not, some of us still do believe in our mission. And that means we believe in Castiel… and you.”

Dean ignored his comment. No one should believe in either of them anymore. Hadn’t they proved that? “You said you were hurt during the fall.”

“I was,” he admitted, somewhat reluctantly. “Entangling with my brother back there did me no favours. But what strength I have left, I offer to you.” The last with a little, respectful bow of the head.


	95. Chapter 95

Dean frowned down at his phone. It was an out-of-area number. “Who is this?” he asked. Wasn’t that many people who had this number, after all.

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas said. “ _My cellphone broke. There was an accident. I am uninjured, but I have had to use a public telephone. Crowley is still not answering my calls. Please would you text him and tell him I am okay, but my phone is not?_ ”

The Hunter held the phone to his ear walking out from the hospital room into the corridor, for the vaguest sense of privacy. “Cas, what the Hell's going on? You left really cryptic messages, man. Then you didn’t answer when I called _or_... you know. And now a bunch of your brothers turned up and aren’t happy with you. Like, serious beef, man.”

“... _Metatron tricked me. It wasn't angel trials. It was a spell. I wanted you to know that._ ”

“Okay. That's great, but we've got ourselves a problem.”

There was a moment of silence as Castiel processed this. Of course there was a problem. When was there _not_ a problem? “ _What's wrong?_ ”

Dean didn’t really want to say it, but… but. He had to. He’d prayed to Cas for a reason, after all. “Sam. He's, um – they say he's dying.”

“ _What happened?_ ”

“It’s the - uh… the trials. Which we stopped, you know. I mean… I don't know. First he was okay, and then he wasn't. And I – have you heard my prayers? I've been praying to you all night.”

“ _Dean, Metatron – he – he took my Grace._ ” He’d heard, of course. It had come through loud and clear, it was just… he hadn’t been able to respond.

“What?”

“ _Don't worry about me_.” After all, it was all his own doing. “ _What are you doing for Sam?_ ”

“Uh, everything I can. There's actually another angel in there working on him right now…” Dean couldn’t help but fret, leaning from foot to foot in his worry.

No. Oh, no. That could be bad. Very bad. “ _What other angel?_ ” Cas asked.

“Um, his name is Ezekiel. He's cool. I mean, I think he is.” Dean sure to Hell hoped he was. After all, he’d been all about ‘let’s not fight bro’ which was normally a better sign than ‘come at me, bro’, right? Right.

“ _Ezekiel. Yes._ ” His relief was plainly audible. “ _He's a good soldier. He should be able to help until I get there._ ”

“Wait, no, no, no. No, hey, that's not an option…”

Cas frowned. No? “ _It might be a few days, but--_ ” Ezekiel could keep Sam alive that long, surely? Although Cas could no longer heal, he… he had to be able to do something, right? Help out. They didn’t have the angel tablet any more, but Kevin had taken a rubbing, and...

“Hey, Cas, listen to me. I told you - there are angels out there, okay? And they – they're looking for you, and they're pissed.” Really pissed. Pissed enough to gank one another about it. 

Cas thought about his new friend, Hael. “ _Not all of them, Dean. Some are just looking for direction. Some are just lost._ ” He refused to believe they were all as bad as Dean thought. After all, he knew his siblings better than Dean did.

“What are you talking about?”

“ _I met one. I think I can help her, Dean._ ” He glanced over at her, watched as she stared into the world in blinking, immature confusion. It was like having a child, in some senses.

“No, Cas, I know you want to help, okay? I do, but helping angels is what got you in trouble in the first place. Now, I'm begging you: for once, look out for yourself. Until we figure out what the Hell is going on, trust nobody.”

That was… that was insulting. Insulting and just… no. So Castiel had made mistakes? Who hadn’t? Was he supposed to just do nothing, instead of try? Metatron had **lied**. Lied. “ _And do what? Just abandon them all?_ ” He’d made this mess, he’d ruined their lives, and he was supposed to… leave them to their own devices? Like that had worked so well so far, if Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Naomi and Metatron were any indicators. God had left, and angels abandoned… that was when bad things happened.

“Damn it, Cas. You hearing yourself? There's a war on, and it's on you. There's thousands of them out th-- you said you lost your Grace, right? That means you're human. That means you bleed and you eat and you sleep and all the things you never had to worry about before.”

Yes, Dean. Thanks. I eat, and bleed, and sleep… and die. Die. Which meant Cas had to find Crowley _as soon as possible_. They had to work out what they were going to do. If he could be fixed, or if… if… “ _I'm fine, Dean._ ”

Something - something - further in the hospital caught Dean’s attention, making him whirl about, trying to pinpoint the threat. “Whoa.”

That did not sound good. That did not sound like Dean was better without him. “ _What's going on?_ ”

Shit… “I think we got more company. Look, get your ass to the bunker **alone**. You hear me?”

“ _Dean--_ ”

“ **Go, Cas**!”

Cas was about to try and call him again when he realised that it was useless, right now. He was so very far away, and powerless. He would just have to make his way to the bunker… the old fashioned, mortal ways. That was if Crowley did not come when summoned, but as he didn’t think anything short of a Devil’s Trap or… worse… would keep him from answering… He put the phone back on the hook and went to speak to Hael. She would simply have to go sightseeing alone.

Dean hung up the phone without answering any more questions. He headed back into Sam’s room where Ezekiel was standing at the foot of the bed. “One of yours?”

“Trying to secure a vessel,” he agreed. It was not clear if he meant his, or… Sam. “We need to move.”

Dean looked at his brother, pale and looking like he was going to literally shatter into pieces at any moment. “No, no. If we move him, he dies.”

“If we stay, we could all die,” Ezekiel argued. He was in no fit state to fight off endless waves of his kind, and Dean had given their location to _every_ single one.

Dean looked around the room for something that might help. He found a marker and set to work angel-proofing the walls with Enochian sigils on every available surface. 

***

Hael looked at Castiel, her head canted sideways. “...I don't understand. I'll come with you. We can see your friend together…”

How could he break this to her, that it was Dean being…. racist? No. That was too strong. ‘Dean’. Yes. “It's complicated. There could be trouble. It's – it's best if I go alone. My – my friend – he... needs my help.”

“ _I_ need help…”

He did his best to be reassuring, a hand on her shoulder. “You can do this, Hael. This is your chance to help people, to help yourself. I'm sorry.” He really was. He did not want to abandon her, but… Sam was dying. And then there was Crowley, of course. He had to get the necessary ingredients to perform the summoning ritual. He had never needed to do it before, but he was sure he could recall. He turned to go, and--

Hael picked up a piece of wood from the ground and slammed it across the back of Castiel’s head as hard as she could. He fell to the ground, unconscious, but still breathing. Castiel was going to help _her_. His little friend could wait. She managed to get Cas - with great, great effort - into a nearby vehicle. She positioned him as though he were asleep in the passenger seat, and set off down the road, angel blade in her lap.

***

Cas wasn’t sure how long he was out for, just that when he woke up, it was to a horrible, dull, throbbing ache in his skull, and the slow, rocking motion of a car driving along. He lifted his hand to his head, and when he pulled it away, it was red with blood. She… she had hit him? Cas peered over at the driver - Hael - and then his eyes glanced on the angel blade in her lap.

Hael looked over as the fallen angel woke up. She took a deep breath in. “You understand that I couldn't just let you leave? I'd be lost without you, Castiel.”

“Yes, I'm... beginning to see that.” After all, knocking someone unconscious simply because they refused to see natural wonders with you was hardly a reasonable response.

“It's the least I could ask of you, considering, well... this _is_ all your fault, isn't it? Making the angels fall? So, we'll drive to the Grand Canyon, you'll tell me more about humans, and I'll show you what I'm capable of. We're going to become more than just friends, Castiel. _We're going to become one_.”

What? Oh, no. That meant one of two things, and Castiel sincerely doubted that it was a sexual proposition. “You want to possess me.” He said it a little numbly because… no. She would need his consent, for one. He would not give it to her. He had… he had a life! He had his own will! This was not the same as when he had asked Jimmy’s permission. No!

“Your vessel is strong…” Hael pulled the collar of her shirt down so he could see the large bruise that was spreading across her shoulder. “This one won't hold me much longer. You were right, Castiel. With us together, I think I could learn to like it here.”

This was… this was going to be difficult. He was not going to allow her to take control of his body, because this would… be temporary? Right. Yes. Temporary. And even if not, he was… important. She could find another vessel. One that would consent. His eyes strayed back to that knife, and he realised, suddenly, that she might well coerce the consent out of him. It was a technicality, in a sense… if polite. She could use that knife, and cause pain the likes of which he had never known. She could do to him, what he had done to countless monsters. But then his eyes drifted from the blade, to the empty seatbelt buckle. She had not connected it, which meant… 

He worked quickly, so that he did not telegraph his moves. Clunk, click went his belt, and then he grabbed hold of the wheel and _yanked_... catching her utterly off guard.

***

Dean smiled brightly as both him and Sam walked out of the hospital together. Things were looking up - even though they were still looking pretty down - but at least Sammy was back… sort of…

“So? How's it look in there?” The Hunter looked up at his brother, but could clearly tell that Ezekiel was currently in control. _Angels, man_.

“Not good,” Ezekiel said, reluctantly. “There is much work to be done.” It didn’t even look like Sam speaking, the angel inside using the body as though it was rusty and difficult.

Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah, but he's gonna wake up, right?”

“He will.”

Good. He better. “So, when he does-- what, is he gonna feel you inside, triaging his spleen?”

The angel barely shook his head. “He will not feel me, no. There is no reason for Sam to know I'm in here at all.” It was better that way. Better if he was able to just heal the Hunter, and then… well. When it was safe, he would leave.

Dean looked at Ezekiel like he’d lost his mind. “You're joking… no, this is-- this is too big.”

“And what will he do if you do tell him he is possessed by an angel?” Ezekiel knew. He had heard the tales, of course. The tales of the vessel of Satan who said no. What would make him say yes to another? 

Hadn’t thought about all that… the only thing he’d been focusing on was saving Sam. “Well, he'll have to understand.”

“And if he does not? Without his acceptance, Sam can eject me at any time, especially with me so weak. And if Sam does eject me, he will die…” 

“Then we keep it a secret for now… or until Sam's well enough that he doesn't need an angelic pacemaker… or I find a way to tell him.” Dean shook his head. “I-- I… as for him being in a hospital, I'll have to figure something out.”

“I can erase it all, if you like. He will not remember any of this.” It would be helpful, after all; it would mean that he could stay here. And where safer than in a Winchester? No other angel would come close. And Dean would be dedicated to ensuring that Sam survived… it was ideal, really. It suited all parties.

That’d probably be best… Dean gave a small nod. “One more thing, Zeke. You gotta keep it quiet in the car. Never know who’s listening’.”

The angel narrowed Sam’s eyes. “Your car was making strange noises before. Is it somehow… possessed?”

Dean gave a dry laugh. “Possessed… yeah sort of. I got a demon in there. Best if you don’t ask a lot of questions about it. But I got one for you… is that sonofabitch in the trunk gonna be able to see… or sense or… whatever…. all your angel mojo in Sam?”

“A demon normally could, it is true, but I… I did not get the same sense around him as I would expect to. Have you warded or protected the trunk from my sight?”

“He’s got some heavy duty security measures goin’ on, so that’s probably it.”

“Then he may well be unable to sense me, but I cannot say for definite. I… assume that means you need my presence to remain a secret from him?”

“ _Oh, yeah_. That dick doesn’t need to know anything about this, you hear me?”

“I understand. It will be as though I am not even there. No one will notice the difference.”

Dean took in a deep breath, nodding once more. “Good.”

***

For the second time today, Castiel came around in the passenger seat of the car. Did humans find themselves so frequently unconscious, or was he being a worse human than the international average? Probably. It made sense. His head lifted up, and he saw the huge hole in the windshield, the glass scattered all around. It had worked, then.

Carefully, slowly, he walked over to where she had fallen. She was a mess of blood and glass, and it was painful to witness. He could not heal her, but… she would heal herself, given time. He dropped to retrieve the angel blade. “I don't want to hurt you,” he said. Even now.

Hael’s legs were bent in a way human’s legs should not be. She was severe pain, but it didn’t stop her from trying to sit herself up on her elbows as she glared up at Castiel.

“I didn't want to hurt any of them,” he tried to explain. “I want to help you. I will devote my life to helping you all.” To undo the damage he had done.

Hael scoffed. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound? _Help angels_? After what you did? They don't want your help, Castiel. They want your head.”

He frowned, because that… hurt. “You're wrong. I'm one of you. I will never stop being one of you.” Even Lucifer had not-- oh. No. He shouldn’t think like that. 

“Don't you get it? Together, I can protect you, Castiel.” She was pleading, _begging_. She didn’t stand a chance without his help. She needed him.

“I don't need your – I don't want your protection.” He didn’t need an angel inside of him to keep himself going. He just needed to get in touch with his demon. His demon would be more help, by a long shot. And he could no longer trust her, not when she had tried to kidnap him. He turned to leave her, to let her find her own way in the world as he had done so many times, too: this was not the first, and probably would not be the last.

If he wouldn’t respond to pleas for help, she’d have to change her game. Her tone changed dramatically. “ _If you leave me here in this broken girl_ \--”

He turned, then, feeling… pity. Yes, this body was broken, but she could heal the damage of the crash. If she left, and went to find another vessel. But it was merely her own fear that left her corporeal... he could not let her use one simple human as a hostage, to prevent him doing the good he knew he was capable of.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she spoke in almost a growl. “I swear it, Castiel... I will tell them where you are. And they will hunt you. Until their last breath, they will seek revenge on the angel that did this, who destroyed Heaven.”

He didn’t. Metatron did. “Stop.”

She would’ve laughed if she wasn’t trying to scare him with threats. “They will seek a vengeance on you that will make God striking down Lucifer seem like _child's play_.”

“ _Stop it._ ” He was practically begging. It wasn’t his fault! It was an accident! He had tried to cure things, to set them right! To undo the damage the archangels and… and then he… he didn’t want this! 

If she just pushed _a little more_... “I will go on angel radio and tell them **everything** unless you open your heart and say yes.”

But his heart was already owned, and he would sooner die than surrender. Although it was yet more blood on his hands, blood he regretted deeply, he felt he had no choice but to turn and run his blade through her chest. He watched every last flicker of Grace - a Grace he no longer had of his own - flare and then die down.

And then Hael was no more, and Castiel was left bloodied, bruised and alone once again.

***

Everything hurt. Everything. His calves ached from all the walking, and his chest hurt where the seat belt had broken his forward momentum. His head still throbbed from the attack, and his hands itched from the scratches on his palms. Was this what being human was like? No wonder Dean looked permanently unhappy. 

He got to the laundromat and stripped the bloodied clothes. He put them into the drum, scrutinising the instructions, and then closed the lid. There was still some money left from before, because the pick-up driver had been very generous and Hael’s vessel had also carried some money. Still, there was not much. His stomach grumbled lowly, and there was a strange, dry… oh. Thirst? Yes. It must be thirst. 

The human body could go many days without food, but less so without water. A vending machine caught his eye as he stood there in nothing but his boxers, but… his eyes flickered back to the machine. His coat. It had been his for so long. It had been Jimmy’s, but now it was his own. Even when he’d been Emmanuel and left himself behind, the demon had made sure he was reunited with it. Even after Purgatory and the filth there… it had stayed with him. He couldn’t leave it. 

Cas turned the machine on, and wandered over to speak to the staff on duty. “Please may I use the restroom?” he asked, noticing the sign that said ‘Staff Only’. 

After a moment’s hesitation, the woman nodded a blunt yes.

“Thank you,” he said, and went inside. It was small, but he just needed the water. He filled the small sink, and splashed cold water over the worst of his injuries, biting back the little hisses of pain. When he was done, he put his hands under the faucet and brought his hands up to his face to drink. He drank until it sat heavy on his belly, and then he wandered back out to see if his clothes were ready yet.


	96. Chapter 96

Crowley had been led - bag over his head like some common run of the mill prisoner - through some place with stairs and at least one large, open room that he was taken through. He was shoved in a chair, restraints back in place (rather roughly with no care, but then again… what did he expect from the oldest Winchester?). 

Dean ripped the bag from his head, followed by the tape across his mouth, which was also violently removed. “Ah!” A glare up at the Squirrel. “Hello boys--”

The Hunter narrowed his shockingly green eyes at him. “Right. For starters: we’re not giving you Cas, and you’re not just walking out of here, and you’re not to be your usual self. Understand? You’re a ‘visitor’ here. Until we work out what we’re gonna do with you, right?”

Crowley scoffed, eyeing the wall of tools and sharp things. Impressive for the little prats. “Homey… where did you get this fantastic little treehouse?”

“It came with the house,” Sam shrugged. “Okay. We can’t just… let you go. I guess you know that. So… here's how it's gonna go. You're giving us the name of every demon on earth, and the people they're possessing. And we’re gonna send all their asses back down, and take out Abaddon, too.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. “ **Am** I? Doesn't sound like me.”

A shrug from the taller man. “I saw you break down, Crowley. When I was trying to cure you, I know a part of you was human again, maybe still is.”

Moose was _not_ trying to hold that over him… was he really that **stupid**? “Blah blah, boo hoo. Done? _Good_. 'Cause this is what I know: I'm not giving you **anything**. Why would I? You have no leverage, darlings. You're not gonna close the gates of Hell, because you didn't, you're not gonna kill me, because you haven't. So what's left?”

Dean was all but growling at him. “We have a few ideas.” The only reason they had stopped the trials was to keep Sammy safe, nothing more. And they didn’t kill him because… well. He was still useful. And because, just maybe, there might be something worth _not_ killing in there. Didn’t mean he had to like the fucker.

“Torture? Brilliant. Can't wait to see Sam in stilettos and a leather bustier, really putting the S-A-M into S&M. Honestly, boys. What are you gonna do to me that I don't do to myself just for kicks every Friday night?” These two bloody morons were really out of their league. Honestly thinking they could actually find a way to torture him? At least physically… then it hit him… he wasn’t going to see Cas any time soon. He had already shown that hand to them. It was the only thing they had going for them.

The brothers exchanged a look, and turned to go. But then Sam hesitated, and nodded when Dean turned around to see what was up. “It’s okay,” he said.

Dean didn’t look convinced, but with a gruff: “Have fun,” he carried on and left the two together.

Sam turned back, arms folded across his chest. He looked - on the surface - _fine_. 

“I was there, Crowley. Dean wasn’t. It’s only because I stopped that you’re still… like you are. And you know that, don’t you?”

“What do you want, a bloody medal? Think you’re doing some kind of service? You wanna do something for me? _Bring. Me. Cas_.”

“Give us names, Crowley. You’re safer here than you are up there.”

“You want a bloody name, do you?” The demon narrowed his eyes at Sam. “ **Castiel**.”

Sam was clearly holding back on something sharp and unpleasant. “Demon names, Crowley. Demons. You leave Cas to us. When we’ve got the situation under control, and we know you’re not gonna try to murder us all…”

“ _When you’ve got the situation under control_?! Do you **ever** have the situation under control? No. You don’t. Your best bet is to bring me my angel and then we can figure out how to fix what you lot destroyed _yet again_. I swear, you two are the most…” He stopped talking to take a breath in, shaking his head. “What, did Daddy bad-touch you? Make you soft in the head? Because _something_ has to explain how truly ignorant and downright **stupid** you are!”

The muscle in Sam’s jaw twitched with the effort to bite back his comment. “We’re not letting you out of here, Crowley. Not right now. You’re staying here, and you’re helping us, or you’ll sit alone in the dark for a long, **long** time. And that’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it? Not…” his head tilted to the weapons and torture implements lining the walls. “...that. You don’t want to be alone. Well. You’re going to be alone, until you agree to help us properly. And then - maybe then - we’ll consider changing things. You got that?”

“I’ll give you the names when you give me my angel, Gigantor!”

“I’ll come back when you’ve had time to think,” Sam said, and turned his back on the demon.

“I don’t need time to think, Moose! I need my angel back!”

Sam’s step faltered, but he stormed out before he had to listen any more. He wanted to listen, he did… but Dean had been adamant, and he had to convince his brother, first.

“Keep on walking, Sam. Run away from your problems to that moron of a brother you’ve got!”

The only sound in response was the slam of the door shutting.

***

Cas was sure he’d done the summoning spell correctly. He’d not done it before, granted, but he had watched it done countless times. He’d seen the Winchesters pull his beloved demon King around like a ragdoll. But now - now he said the words, and he stood and waited and… nothing.

Nothing. No elaborate, dramatic appearance. No magician’s bow and ‘I had you fooled there, huh, Cas?’ No. Nothing. Which meant one of two things: One, Crowley was trapped somewhere, and had been for some days now. Or two… no. No. He didn’t want to think about two, though it was becoming increasingly likely. Who would trap the King of Hell indefinitely? No one, that was who. 

He moved on auto-pilot, packing up the spell ingredients into the little rucksack he’d acquired. He’d spent the last of his money on the spell ingredients, and it had been for nothing. Well. There was only one thing left to do.

The once-angel made his way to the place where two quiet, back-water roads crossed, the moon high in the sky the only light for miles. To call this a crossroads was to do it a greater service than it had seen in years. Perhaps once when cattle had been driven to markets it would have counted, but now… he started to dig the hole for the box, gritting his teeth. It was harder than he imagined, shifting earth, and he could tell that his already sore limbs would hurt more come the morning.

“You know,” came a cheery little voice from somewhere behind him, making him start and turn, spade lifted in defence, “...never know who’s at the other end of the line if you go through with that. Or if they’d insist on your soul for what you’re asking.”

“Cecily,” Cas said, trying to smile past a grim clench of teeth. She was, at least, friendly towards Crowley, but the second-last demon he would want to see. 

“You really wanna make a deal, or just talk?” she asked, pushing hair behind her ear. “I’m assuming this is about the boss?”

“...have you heard from him? He did not… he did not answer my calls, or my summons.”

That’s when he saw the female demon’s face fall, and for all he was jealous of how close she was to his King, it was impossible to deny she actually cared for him, too. And it was good that he had someone out to watch his back when Cas was not around.

“No… not for a few days. He went off in a hurry and he never came back.”

“Did… did he say where he was going?”

Cecily shook her head, and looked down to her feet. “Nope. I guess you haven’t, either?” 

Cas lowered the spade, pushing the blade into the earth. He leaned heavily against it, fighting the rising nausea. “No.”

“...I don’t… I don’t think Abaddon did it, because she’d be celebrating loudly, and… she hasn’t. Yet. But I can’t work out what… what else could have happened. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“I need to kill her,” Cas said, with sudden certainty. “I need to make her pay.”

The demon nodded. “I thought you might say that. Before… before… Crowley had me look into what happened with the other Knights. I don’t think the archangels iced them. So, like, maybes only Chuck and Abaddon herself know how to kill her for sures, but I had this rumour about a thing called the ‘First Blade’. I was gonna give the info to the boss.”

“Please will you give it to me?”

She offered a weak smile. “I was hoping you’d ask. And… no. I’m not gonna make a deal with you, though I can see you’re… clipped?” Head to one side, squinting at him. “Different.”

“...I was tricked, yes.”

“Well.” She tossed him a phone. “Take this for a start. I’ll also get you threads and wheels. You do know how to drive, don’t you?”

“...in theory.”

“...you better learn pretty fast. If you can’t fly, you’re gonna need to drive to keep on your toes. And ward yourself, against both teams.”

“Why are you helping me, though?”

She snorted. “It’s a bit late for me to keep my head down and play both sides, now. I pretty much made my allegiance known about the whole Meg sitch. And Abaddon? She’s not good peeps. If we can’t get Crowley back--” a pale wince. “...then I want her gone, so Scotty can take over. And you’re more likely to work with me than those Hunters.”

He nodded, and immediately programmed in Crowley’s number to the phone, texting him with ‘This is my new number - Castiel’, before slipping it away. “I assume your contact details are stored within?”

“Yep. No more deals or summonings, mister! You want the tats now or later?”

“As soon as possible, please. I… have already run into some… difficulties. I would like to prevent any more.”

“Okies. Well. I hope you like the sting…”

***

“Look… I know he’s pissed with us for what we did,” Sam said, pulling up a chair near Dean. “But the longer we keep him down there, the worse it’s gonna be.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Dean snapped. “King Chuckles will try to gut us the minute we let his sorry ass out. And if he finds out that Cas’ lost his Grace?”

“But if we let him out, he can find Cas, and he can bring him back. Then we can all work together on Abaddon, and Heaven.”

“Yeah. Like that worked so great last time.”

“Dean, _you_ stopped the trials. It was going to work. Hell was going to be sealed off, and Crowley would be human, and _you_ stopped me. The Metatron thing - yeah. That went south. But that wouldn’t have been better if we’d dealt with him instead of Cas. You could’ve stopped Cas, couldn’t you? But you decided to help.”

“Those trials were **killing** you, Sam. Killing you. Now we’ve faced down Yellow Eyes and Lucy himself, I think Abaddon will go down, just harder. Alright?”

“You weren’t there.”

“No. I wasn’t.”

“No, Dean. _You weren’t there_. He was ready. He was - he was reluctant, but he offered me his neck for the shots. He was ready, Dean. And after we did all that to him… we just stopped?”

“Demon, Sam. Why do people keep forgetting that? Demon! King of freaking **Hell**. He’s killed how many people? How many times has he tried to kill us?”

“It was supposed to be a chance to start over, Dean. And we dangled that carrot in front of his nose, and now we’re just going to--” 

Sam stopped speaking, and suddenly sat further upright. Dean startled, then noticed the blue glow around his eyes.

“Zeke.”

“You cannot allow the demon to be freed, Dean. If you do, he will sense my presence, and it will be even more difficult to conceal myself as I heal your brother.”

“Yeah. I know. I got that.”

“You must convince Sam that this was the best course of action.”

“Dude, don’t you think I’m trying? But what the Hell am I supposed to do when Cas turns up on the door?”

“You must keep him away.”

“Do you even know Cas? Angel or human, he’s stubborn. He ain’t gonna just… give up and walk off.”

“You must keep him away, at least long enough for me to heal Sam.”

“And how long, exactly, is that gonna take?”

The angel inside the human looked down, as if he was looking _inside_. “The damage is severe. And I was weakened by the fall, by the fight with my brothers and sisters. I need… time.”

“Yeah, well, this ain’t a permanent thing, you know? I need him back. Properly. So you do what you gotta do, and I’ll… I’ll work out the demon and Cas. Right?”

The blue faded down. “--pull it back, and tell him he has to stay damned?” Sam continued on.

Dean winced, because that was sort of brain-breaky to keep up with a conversation of before. “You’re more important than he is, and he said himself he wanted to stay rotten. So for now, we keep him there. Until we figure a way to get everything… sorted. And that’s the end of it. No unlocking him, you hear? I don’t know what freaky two-way Stockholm thing you guys had going on, and he’s a tricky sonofabitch… so you don’t go letting him out. Not for anything.”

Sam frowned, but nodded. “Alright.”

“Shouldn’t you - you know - be resting?”

“I feel fine.”

“I mean… you were pretty out of it, Sam. Maybe you’re drained and you don’t know?”

“Nope… pretty sure I’m fine.” Head to one side. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“No… no. Just… worried, s’all.”

“...well I’m fine.”

“Good. Great. Yeah. Okay. I’ll… I’ll go see how Kevin’s doing. You just…”

“...yeah.”

Dean got up hurriedly, leaving Sam staring after him in confusion.


	97. Chapter 97

The silence was deafening. The darkness, blinding. There was nothing. Nothing except his own mind to keep him occupied. And oh, what a terrible, terrible place that was. He couldn’t decide if it made things better or worse to think about his angel. On one hand, of course the thoughts of Castiel made him smile… on the other, the emptiness he felt at the lack of new memories was almost too much to bear. Or perhaps it _was_ too much to bear. 

On occasion, he heard footsteps passing, but no one ever bothered to come in to check on him. He sang to himself practically every song he knew either out loud or just in his head. No matter what though, the thoughts drifted back to Cas. He didn’t even know if his angel was safe. 

He couldn’t go through another ‘death’. He couldn’t. He wasn’t even sure how he’d managed the first time. Everything felt wrong. Everything. Here he was locked up like some petty thief in some ridiculous dungeon the Winchesters had found, all the while, Castiel was missing - at least, those morons had led on that they weren’t incredibly sure of his whereabouts.

What if those bloody fools had told Cas that Crowley was dead? Would he believe them? Would he stop looking for his King? Would he give up the fight? 

_No_. Of course he wouldn’t… would he?

What if he didn’t look for Crowley? What if he just accepted the fact that the demon was gone, that he was no more? He’d be completely in his own right to give up, wouldn’t he?

Crowley had given up. Crowley had mourned him… he had held a wake and everything… accepted that his love was dead and gone.

Why shouldn’t Castiel do the same? Crowley could see him now, bless his little angel heart. Sitting on their bench in Perth, the sun just about to rise. Cas placing a bag of honey where Crowley had sat. A whispered _I love you and I will miss you. Goodbye, my love_.

And Crowley wept as he had done so many times over the loss of his angel. His stomach _hurt_ from his sobs. It was hard to breathe. He was certain those damn Winchesters could hear him, but he didn’t give a fuck. Nothing mattered. He hung his head as much as he could with that blasted collar on, every strained breath in rubbing it the wrong way against his neck. 

He was ready to do whatever the fuck those idiots wanted him to… just as soon as he could stop blubbering like a fool.

***

The car that Cecily had got for him was, of course, an automatic. She had made sure he knew what everything did (brakes, handbrake, accelerator, indicators, stick) and after a few false starts, his long-term rental had croaked along. Cas had managed to work out how to play songs on the radio, but he was constantly changing the station because he was frustrated. Eventually he found one that played music that was more to his liking. It was very vibrant and bouncy, and the only unfortunate thing was the amount of depravity in the lyrics.

Eventually his eyes sort of felt dry and tired, and the white lines of the road made him feel a bit… confused. Like they blurred into one, and he had to struggle to focus. After nearly not stopping at a red light, he realised he’d been doing this too long and made up his mind to rest for a while.

He pulled it up in the parking lot of a motel, making sure to put the handbrake on (she had told him that three times) before checking in. He just opted for the most basic room he could get, because he didn’t see the point in wasting this money, even if she had said it was not a problem. As soon as he got into his room, he realised his bladder was full _again_. Did humans ever do anything but urinate? It was so frustrating. He dumped the holdall on the creaky bed, and then went to relieve himself. It was strange how pleasant a sensation it was, when it was really voiding the body of toxins. Although he supposed it had to feel pleasant to relieve discomfort, it was just… surreal. When he was done, he wandered back into the main room.

Bed. He tilted his head at it. He’d not slept since he fell to Earth, unless you counted the times he had been rendered unconscious through brute force. Maybe he should sleep, now? He was no stranger to beds, or to lying in them for extended periods. It must be the same?

He realised that at some point, he’d fallen asleep, sort of, staring at the bed, because his head came up with a snap and he was disorientated. Yes. Okay. Sleep.

Cas stripped off his shirt, shoes, pants (only spacing out once) and folded them all mostly-neatly on the chair. He was just going to get under the covers and think about-- think ab---

Out like a light, the minute his head touched the pillow. The once-angel’s eyes closed, and exhaustion overcame him. For the longest time, he didn’t even dream, he was just out stone-cold. 

Eventually, though, the first shadows of dreams came through. They were confused, a jumble of voices and images and sounds, without any coherent story. Things he’d seen, things he’d witnessed, garbling together in a cacophony of repeated experiences. Then… then he was in Heaven. He was in Heaven, and so was Crowley. It didn’t seem wrong that Crowley was there, though. He just… was. Crowley was reaching for his hand, trying to say something, but Cas couldn’t hear. His lips moved, but there was no sound, and he could not read the shapes on his lips. There was a sense of urgency, and then Crowley was sinking lower, lower and lower. It was not really Heaven, it was like some childish interpretation, with glowing clouds, but still he knew what it was supposed to be. 

As Crowley clutched at him, his fingers gouging painfully down his side, to his calves, to his ankles... there was a loud voice calling from behind him, and he forgot that Crowley was there. He tried turning to the blinding light, but when he looked to find the owner of the voice, he could not. Crowley was gone, and Cas was left with nothing but an empty ringing in his ears, and a feeling of terror gripping his core. It was _wrong_ , but he could not work out why, or how, or where. 

Cas tried to walk, tried to move, but every step he took seemed to shake the very foundations of Heaven. Every time he placed his foot down, no matter how carefully, the pure white clouds trembled and grew dark. He had to move, because he had to find the voice, and he had to work out why something felt so terribly, terribly wrong, why Heaven wasn’t Heaven any more, and why he could smell honey, and feel the cool of milk sliding down his throat, but that was all a memory, broken and shattered. He could not stay, because something was chasing him. Something with sharp, needle teeth and a slobbering black tongue, but every time he tried to run, either his legs would not move, or when they responded it sent more of the skies tumbling to the Earth, and when he looked down, he realised every step had been one of his kind falling.

No, oh no… he threw himself to his hands and knees, and all of Heaven trembled. He was just Castiel. Just Castiel, why was this happening? Behind he could hear the calls of a thousand monsters, and below he thought he could hear a voice calling to him, crying for help, calling his name over and over, but no matter where he turned his gaze he saw nothing. A hand on his shoulder, and when he turned around he saw an angel with a voice, and a demon with flame-red hair, and that was the last thing he saw before he sat bolt-upright.

Cas stared into the room. He had fallen asleep with the lights on, and he had no clue what time it was. The curtains were drawn, and it was one of those artificial days of modern, human invention. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his hands were shaking from his night terrors, and no matter what he did, he could not still them. He forced himself up and to the small restroom again, splashing cold water onto his face.

Crowley. He had dreamt of Crowley. He’d dreamt of forgetting him, and that… that was the most awful thing of all. Forgetting him. How could he forget the love of his life? Even if he was-- even--

Cas sunk to the cold, tiled floor. He pulled his knees into his chest and tried to recall him. Tried to recall the sound of his voice, the gravel in there, the way it rose and fell, the way it trilled in laughter and purred in bliss. It was… almost there. Fingers on his skin, but that was harder to recall, and so he used his own. He wrapped an arm around himself, and trailed his own fingers over the back of his neck. It was not the same, but… it helped. The feel of stubble scraping his cheek, or his inner thighs. The snuggly, solid warmth of him when they curled up together. The smell of him, the taste… tears pricked at his eyes and surprised him, rolling down his cheeks.

He missed him. He missed him so much. And he was terrified he would forget why.

***

When Crowley had finally calmed himself, he did the only thing he could think to do: he screamed for Sam over and over, determined not to stop until one of those morons came to him.

Sam frowned at Dean, holding a perfectly silent conversation. Dean just stared back at him, until it became obvious this was one of those times they weren’t going to agree. A nod, and with three taps of the hand, Dean displayed ‘Scissors’, and Sam ‘Rock’. The younger brother hid his smirk, Dean was so easy to play. He didn’t want Sam to go talk to him, and to be fair Sam was also not entirely convinced it was a great idea, but the haunted look in Crowley’s eyes back in the church… yeah. Dean just couldn’t know what had gone down, and it was all his fault. Sam trotted down to the dungeon, hoping the demon would play ball so they could end this farce at last.

“You ready to play ball?” he asked, when the double doors slid open, and the overhead lighting came on.

“So nice of you to join me, Moose. Have a little proposition for you. What say you give me a phone call, I’ll give you whatever you ask in return?”

Sam tilted his head to one side, curious. “Who you gonna call?”

“Certainly not the Ghostbusters,” he smirked. “Who do you think I’m gonna call, Sam?”

Sam reached into his pocket and dialled Cas’ number. Cas’ old number, the only one he knew. He put the phone on speaker, then held it up to show Crowley how it rang, and rang, and rang, and…

“ _Castiel. I am apparently not here. Or. There. Available. To answer. You should… I understand you leave a mess-- BEEP._ ”

Crowley’s gut _wrenched_ at the sound of Castiel’s voice. He hung his head, biting his lip. He was not going to cry in front of Sam. Nope. Not gonna cry. 

“Fine. We’ll do it the old fashioned way, then… I’ll need a bowl and some pure blood.”

The Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “What do you need pure blood for? You can make the call - to Hell? - with normal blood. And… dude. Why should we give you that?”

“I said I wanted a call. I didn’t get it. Cas didn’t--” a shaky breath in, “...I still get my one call. And don’t question me on how to properly make a fucking call. I’m dialing a direct line, I can’t have any interference.”

“...right. Fine. I’ll get you some of mine. But you’re doing it under supervision.”

“Not yours, darling. This requires the Prophet’s blood.”

“Dude, I am not asking Kevin for his blood. Mine’s pure. You _know_ mine is pure.”

“Prophet blood’s a secure line. Do you really want me, King of Hell, talking over an unsecured channel? Broadcasting a location?”

“ _Fine_. But I’m only asking. If he says no, then no dice. Alright?”

“Make sure you pitch it to him properly, then.”

“And in return you’ll give us all the demon names?”

“Can’t give you all the names straight away, Moose, you should know that. No reason to keep me alive if I spill all the beans at once, is there? But I will give you some. You have my word.”

***

“ _Dean_.”

“Cas.”

“ _I have a favour to ask_.”

“...okay. What is it?”

“ _I need to know what your father’s journal says about a demon called Smitty. He claimed to be one of Abaddon’s ‘crew’_.”

“...should I ask why?”

“ _I am hunting her, Dean. I would… appreciate your assistance in this matter_.”

“Okay…” He pulled out John’s journal, and flipped through the notes. “I remember seeing this, and… okay. Just says he ganked him.”

“ _Oh_.” Cas sounded so… defeated.

“Hang on… there’s a note about this, so there’s more… you got a pen handy?”

“ _Yes - wait - no I need some paper… I… just wait a second I--_ ” Cas scrabbled to grab something, then jotted down all of the directions. Perfect. “ _Thank you, Dean_.”

“No problem, man.”

“ _How is Sam?_ ”

Dean hesitated for a moment before he said, “Yeah… a lot better. Thanks. He… he should be okay. Look, you are gonna come by, aren’t you?”

“ _Once Abaddon is dead, yes. I will. Please send my regards to Sam. I will speak to you soon_.” Click.

This new independent Cas was weird, Dean thought.


	98. Chapter 98

Cas was sitting in the quiet little diner, working out the remainder of his route on the map with a pencil, minding his own business when the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he could _feel_ eyes sliding over him, judging him, gauging him for weakness. He wondered if it was some unconscious prey-response? He’d never felt so suddenly exposed and fragile.

He decided until he could work out where the danger was coming from, and how to escape it, the best thing was to feign ignorance. He licked at the grease around his lips, then put the burger back down on the plate. One of the waitresses walked past, and he turned slightly to address her.

“Excuse me, Ma’am, could I have some more ketchup please?”

“Sure thing, dollface,” she said with a wink, tottering off on unwise shoes to retrieve it. 

Cas took the opportunity to twirl back slowly, his eyes flitting over the room’s occupants, and then he saw someone hurriedly look down. Yes. That was the person. He did not recognise him, but he had clearly been staring at him and he had picked up on it. The waitress brought over the ketchup with a wink (now surely _that_ was a flirtation) and he squirted it between the patty and the bun. He had been very hungry, so he wanted to make sure he finished this. It wasn’t going to be too heavy on his stomach and make him sluggish, and he’d paid for it, damnit. Cecily’s benefaction might be generous, but he still did not want to waste money in case something happened to her.

Once he’d finished, he thanked the woman (Blah? According to her name-badge, though he suspected it was damaged, and some of the letters were missing), settling the bill and leaving a good tip, and then pushed up and out of the booth. He felt with his left hand for the car keys in his coat pocket, brushing his arm over the shoulder-holster he’d adapted to carry his angel blade. Without magic to keep it out of sight but within reach, he had reverted to more primitive methods. 

Outside, Cas stepped calmly into the street and then sharply banked left, the knife drawn and concealed, the blade behind his fingers, and his thumb holding it in place. Sure enough, a beat later and the man came out of the diner. Cas grabbed his arm, pushing the weapon up under his jaw. “Who are you, and why are you following me?”

“Castiel… is this how you greet all your friends?”

“For one, I don’t know who you are, and for two, my friends normally greet me, instead of watching me from across the room.”

A little chuckle. “Ren, Castiel. It’s me.”

“You… have changed vessels since last you were on Earth.”

“Yeah, well, she was spoken for when I got down. And this one is not so bad.”

“Why are you following me?”

“After what you did?”

“What do you think I did, Ren?”

He shoved at Cas’ arm, and Cas struggled to keep it in place without cutting him in the process. “You threw us all out of Heaven. Do you even know how many died in the fall? Or on Earth? It’s chaos. There’s not enough vessels, and angels are fighting over them. Like I said, my usual one was spoken for.”

“I was tricked. I would never… I would never do this deliberately.”

“Well, you’re a hot potato, now, Castiel. There’s a price on your head.”

“...and you intend to collect?”

“Nothing personal.” Ren shoved harder, and Cas felt the jolt like a sharp, shooting pain from his wrist all the way up his arm. He lost his grip on the angel blade, and it went clattering down. Another blade was then shoved under his jaw, and Cas grabbed the angel’s arm, trying to hold it back when Blah came running out the door, waving a wallet.

“You forgot your-- _oh_.” 

“Not an innocent, Ren, please,” Cas begged. “Let her be.”

“So she can call the cops? I don’t think so…”

“Please, please just let’s… talk about this?” Blah was saying, her hands up placatingly. “No one needs to be hurt…”

The angel was about to use his blade on her, but Cas was faster. He took the lapse in concentration and put an elbow in Ren’s side. The angel reeled from the impact, and Cas tried to wrest the blade free. Ren wouldn’t let go, but in the confusion he managed to twist his wrist back, and shove it into his stomach. Bright, white light belted out, and the shadow of broken wings was left scorched into the diner’s red brick wall. Blah was staring at him.

“What was--”

“It is probably better for you that you do not know,” Cas said, bending to retrieve his own angel blade and put it back in its holster. The spare, he would store in his glove compartment, he decided. “Although I must caution you that if any angel asks if you will permit them to enter you, you say ‘no’.”

Dumbly, she nodded.

“I apologise for the mess. I would be grateful if you gave me time to leave before you phone for the police. And if you could not mention me, that would… be helpful.”

“I… uh. Well you did sort of save my life, so…”

“Thank you.” He tried to smile at her, even though he was hurting. Inside, not physically. “Please… remember. No angels.”

And before she could ask him why, he set off at a brisk pace to his car. He had to get out of this town, and fast.

***

“Seriously? You want to let Crowley communicate with Abaddon? A King and a power-mad Knight of Hell isn't enough for you? You want to throw a demonic team-up into the mix?” Kevin asked, arms folded across his chest. 

“I don't think so. I mean, I-- I don't trust Crowley, either. But I can't honestly see him working with Abaddon. He hates her too much.”

“But you said it yourself, you can’t trust him. And why else would he be calling Hell? What else could he want with them?”

“We don't have to,” Sam offered. “Look, Crowley's bound. Ah, we can end the call whenever we want. Even if he wanted to give Abaddon information, he has none to give her. He doesn't even know where the bunker is.” It _was_ risky to let Crowley make that kind of call, but he had nothing to share aside from the fact that he was pining over Cas and really, who wanted to listen to that?

“And you want him to… you want me to let him use _my_ blood? I’m no Hunter, but isn’t that… kinda risky? For all the creepy voodoo things?”

“It’s not like we’re just giving him a vial to carry around. We’ll be right there the whole time. Like I said, we can end the call at any time. We are in control, Kevin, not him.”

“...right. Okay. If you think we need to do it… I can’t say no to you, can I?” The Prophet offered a weak smile. “Let’s just do it.”

***

Castiel was making his way slowly to John’s stronghold, but human methods of travel were sadly inferior. He had asked why he could not fly (and winced at her joke about ‘Hot Wings’) and been told it was simply too dangerous to (another pun, judging by her smirk) get on the radar by passing airport security. So it was drive. Drive and drive. And motel. And groceries. And it was beginning to take its toll.

He was warded, of course. Against angels _and_ demons, though he knew that wasn’t going to be enough to keep everything away. Still, when he put his key in the lock to his room, and walked in, he was **not** expecting to see someone sitting on the bed. He’d already thrown the holdall as a matter of instinct, and he startled.

The Reaper on the bed caught it with ease. “Castiel.”

“April. I… did not expect to see you.”

“Well, I came to see how you’re doing. Looks like pretty good… I expected to find you surfing couches or dumpsters, I’ll be honest.”

Cas’ face was stony. “Yes. It might have come to that. I was left with nothing.”

“Doing alright for yourself now, though…”

“Where is Balthazar?”

“Oh? Around. Reckon you know why he’s lost some of his appeal, recently.”

Cas winced. “It was… it was a mistake, April. I did not intend for it to happen. I was… deceived.”

“Well, Balthy sulked for a good… week? And then he was back to his usual self. Without wings, of course. And I think a bit less hurt, because he was already _on_ Earth. You know. After you went all God and threw him out.”

“I was-- I was not myself.”

“Beginning to wonder what ‘yourself’ really is, Cas!” She jumped up, pushing the holdall onto the bed. 

“Why have you come? Is there something wrong?”

“Let’s just say… a little birdy paid me a visit. And then _paid_ me…” She sauntered in close, then grabbed his shirt, spinning him around and shoving him into the chair. Cas went, because he didn’t really know what to expect. He had his hand ready to flick the angel blade down, but she brought a knee up between his legs, causing him to yell and double over in pain. The angel blade dropped from his sleeve and clattered to the ground, to be kicked roughly away.

“You don’t have to do this, April.”

“Oh, see, I kinda do. I don’t think you can offer me _near_ what Bartholomew is, for your head on a spike. So… sorry. You’re cute, and you’re probably right you never meant for this to happen… but it did. And now this is simply how it has to be…”

Cas’ eyes widened as she flicked her wrist, and from seemingly nowhere, a pair of handcuffs was left rolling around her finger. “Now, don’t fight and I’ll make it as painless as possible.”

The angel tried to get up again, but a slap to the face had his head snapping around, hitting the wall, and all the human saw was blackness.

***

Sam dropped a small medical kit onto the table with a thud. He unrolled it carefully, revealing several medical supplies, including multiple syringes. He picked one from the mix and looked up at Kevin with a questioning glance.

Kevin looked a little pale, but then grabbed hold of a tourniquet. He tugged it into place around his arm, then took one of the needles, drawing up a syringe full.

“Yep, perfect, Kev,” Crowley cooed appreciatively. “Gonna need quite a bit, just in case. You know. Such a dedicated line requires a lot of juice.”

The Prophet glowered, and grabbed a second needle. Another. He locked eyes with the demon until every last one was filled, then slammed them onto the table in front of Sam. “There.”

“My, you are a feisty little bugger. Nice to see it runs in the family. How is Mummy?”

“Leave my mother out of this,” Kevin growled, almost as low as Dean.

“Alright you two, that’s enough.” Sam emptied a syringe into the bowl in front of Crowley, watching him carefully. “How much more do you need?”

“That will do for the first call. You know, you might want to send Twinkle Toes there back to his Xbox. This is a call for Mommy and Daddy…”

“Screw you, Crowley.”

“Sorry, love, I’m spoken for. And you look a little on the twink side for my liking… rain check?”

“Seriously, you guys. That’s enough.” He turned to Kevin, his back towards Crowley. “Why don’t you head back out there. Work on the tablet for a bit… I’ll handle this, okay?”

“Yes, it’s been fun,” Crowley agreed, leaning over the table and slipping one of the sharps up his sleeve. “Send my regards to Linda.”

“Whatever… have fun,” Kevin said, skulking up the stairs.

When Sam turned around again, Crowley nodded in approval. “Best to keep this post watershed, after all. Okay. Here goes nothing…”

The demon cleared his throat, then began the incantation over the bowl: “ _Inferni sectatores, nunc audite regem_...”

The blood inside the bowl started to swirl, making noises that were incomprehensible to human ears. “This is Crowley. Connect me to--” A beat. “Crowley!” Bastards. How could they pretend they didn’t recognise his voice? It was embarrassing. He looked up at the Moose, sulkily. “Bad connection.”

The demon decided to ignore the look of bafflement on the Hunter’s face. Damned humans spent half their time looking like that, and with good reason, too. “Crowley,” he repeated again. “Your **King**. If you don't connect me to Cecily right away, I will be forced to--”

Cecily, huh? Now that made much more sense… he raised an eyebrow at Crowley as he abruptly stopped talking. “What? What happened?”

Much as he was loathe to admit it… “I've been placed on hold.” Bastards on the exchange were going to be gutted. He was going to bisect them, and then put doggy treats in their entrails, and then sic Growley on them. And play bad music, too.

Sam scoffed. “How long's it take to transfer a demonic phone call?”

Oh, he was really treading on fine ice today. “Can it, Moose.”

“Come on, Crowley… it’s time.”

“It's time when I bloody well say it's time!” he snapped, hands balling into angry fists. God, what he wouldn’t do for his powe-- the blood in the bowl started to boil over, and hiss angrily up at them. “Cecily?”

Abaddon grinned to herself. Honestly, trying to get through Hell’s switchboard to reach who he _thought_ was his best minion. Pathetic. “ _Crowley! How in the Hell are you_?”

“Oh, _peachy_. You know. Enjoying a brief sabbatical. Does the smoke a world of good. I take it by Cecily’s conspicuous absence that you’ve put your filthy paws into things?”

Abaddon forced a small laugh. “ _Quite the charmer, as always, aren’t you? Your best girl’s switched teams. Next time you want to take a sabbatical, might wanna make sure all your pieces are laid out properly on the chessboard. Save yourself some embarrassment_.”

Deep breaths. Deeeeeeep breaths. Imagine crushing her head between his thighs. Yes. Worse. He allowed himself only a moment’s pause, even though in it he went through a lot of possibilities: would Cecily switch, now? Considering she had no idea where he was, and Abaddon clearly had taken over Hell? Was… was she going to be… so easily swayed? After all, she had taken up with Scotius, but that little thing was nowhere near the brains or brawn to take down Abaddon. Meg, yes. Abaddon? No. “If that’s true, then I am better off without the disloyal mutts. But I think I’ll find quite a few more loyal to my cause than you expect. So. How are the numbers?”

“ _You mean souls_?” Abaddon’s grin spread widely across her face. “ _I've managed to double on your projections. Now, how did I **ever** pull off such a feat_?”

Now he did lose his temper. “You're taking souls before their time. Voiding my contracts!” That… that was worse than diabolical! That was just _stupid_!

“ _That's right_ ,” she said in a sing-song tone. “ _I'm taking it **all** down, brick by brick. It's over. The days of Crowley - the King of _ Bureaucrats – are **done**.”

Oh, he was going to do worse than end her, he was going to _destroy_ her. All his hard work! Hell had been a mess when he stepped in! He’d brought order, order and integrity. You could deal with Hell because you could **believe** in Hell. And here was this fucking upstart, two-bit bitch destroying it? “You. Ganky. Putrescent. **Skanger**.”

Abaddon didn’t even dignify his remark with a response, she did chuckle though. He was so adorable - for lack of a better word - when he was all riled up.

“It may look like bean-counting to you, it may lack a certain adolescent flair, but my way... works!” Sometimes you had to put the results first. Before petty, childish desires, and before any impatience. Being a King meant actually _ruling_. 

Sam shifted uncomfortably as he listened to Crowley’s side only of the conversation. He gave Crowley a questioning look. What the Hell was going on on the other end of that phone… or rather… bowl? He shook his head. Maybe this was a bad idea...

“You think you can control Hell with chaos alone, without the support of those who are still loyal to me?!” he snarled. You just… could not rule Hell like that! That bitch… just because he was stuck here, now… but not forever… He would be free. He would be free, when he could convince those idiot brothers to let him out.

“ _No one's seen you in **weeks** , and last I saw you, Howdy and Doody had you tied up nice and tight. Seems to reason, they've turned you into a kennel dog. How does it feel, Crowley, **to be the Winchesters' bitch**_?” Another laugh, followed by a heavy sigh. “ _It's been fun indulging in your bluffs, but we both know you have no real authority left, no leverage. You have nothing to offer me. You have… **nothing**_.”

His voice went completely dead, and devoid of any and all inflection. “Your way will backfire. You. Will. Burn.”

“ _I. Can't. **Wait**_.”

The call came to an abrupt end, and the King pushed the bowl away, eyes down. In here, he was nothing. In here, he could do nothing but wait as that bitch destroyed… everything. It was the last insult. No Castiel, and now no Hell, either. Great. Why not castrate him while they were at it?

Sam’s eyes wandered quickly over the demon. He looked… pathetic, to be honest. Not that a call to Hell that was intercepted by Abaddon could even possibly go _well_... “Crowley?” The Hunter’s voice was soft and careful.

“Martin Hayward and Brandon Favors. They're underperformers. Spike them, you'll do me a favour.” He didn’t even look up, just… a heavy sigh.

Sam nodded. “Thanks. Is uh… everything… okay?”

The King’s eyes flickered up, filled with rage. “Does it sound like everything is okay? Do you really think that one of Lucifer’s pet attack bitches in charge of Hell is a good thing? Really? You thought Azazel was a dick? Well. She’s… she’s **worse** and with me in here? There’s no one to stop her, you numbnuts.”

Sam pressed his lips together, giving a small huff. “All the more reason for you to give us more names, Crowley.”

“For what? You to deplete people who might fight my corner? How, exactly, is that a good plan? She’ll just make her own army of upstarts. And if you think life before was tough, you’ll never know how cushy you had it under me. I’m serious, Sam. This… this is not just internal, infernal politics, but how could I expect someone like you to see the bigger picture? Just… fuck off.”

“Fine. We’ll keep doing this the hard way.” Sam said nothing more as he turned to leave the demon alone in the dark once more.

Yeah. Great. Hard way. Crowley sighed heavily, but he was a proud and stubborn demon. He wasn’t going to ask for help from his captors, when they clearly didn’t give a rat’s ass about him. He wasn’t quite humiliated enough to beg like their… like their bitch. No.

He couldn’t even turn his back on him, or slam a door. All he could do was grind his teeth, and wait until he’d gone long enough before he bawled abuse at the door, until all the rage inside was spent… and so was he.


	99. Chapter 99

When Castiel woke up, he blinked through the fog of pain to see April already waiting for him. He was cuffed to the chair, and she was sitting on his knee. 

“You know, when he contacted me, I don’t think he knew we’d already met. But my briefing did say you were dangerous and powerful. Flattering, don’t you think? That they felt they had to warn a Reaper about you.”

“They… misunderstand me. It was all a mistake, April. Believe me. But… who hired you? I assumed with Naomi gone, things were in chaos. You mentioned… Bartholomew?”

She shrugged. “He’s the new sheriff in town, Cas. He hired a bunch of us. I got lucky.”

“Bartholomew…” Cas sighed heavily. He remembered him, of course, from the war. Very… ‘trigger happy’ to use a human term. He’d revelled in the fighting, so of course he was taking every excuse to continue the bloodshed.

“Enough questions from you: I have several of my own. Let's talk about your buddy Metatron…” she tapped the angel-blade against his nose. “You can tell me without me causing you pain, right?”

“You would have got answers from me simply by asking, April. Does Balthazar know what you are doing?”

“Oh, you think he would care? You gave him the bum’s rush, Cas. You kicked him out of the nest, like a cuckoo. You think he wants to know?”

“I…” Cas floundered. He had been… harsh. He’d nearly killed him. If the other angel hadn’t run and hidden so successfully, he might well be dead, now, too. 

“Well, Cas. If you want to get out of here, then you’re going to need to tell me how to undo your little hoodoo.”

“I don’t know how to undo his spell. I did not even know what it involved, or what it would do. He is the Scribe, April. He heard God’s word, and he knew what to do. I… do not know how to fix this, unless it is written on the tablet.”

“And this tablet?”

“He… he has it. But the Prophet has a copy of it.”

“I see. And he is working on a way to fix Heaven?”

“I… yes. Yes he is.”

“So you’re needed… how?”

“It may be unwise to kill me. If my Grace were the key to empowering the spell, I may be key to countering it.”

“Are you negotiating with me, Castiel?”

“No, I am just--”

“Do you know how to fix Heaven, or not?”

“No.”

“Well, then. You’re no use to anyone. Great things, angel blades. Not only do they work on angels, and demons… but humans are pretty averse to them, too.”

“April, _please_ ,” he begged, struggling with all his strength against the handcuffs. “The Winchesters - they - they can help you. Or pay you. Or--”

“They already owe me one favour, I’m not going to give them a second,” she said, and ran him through with the blade, straight to the heart. 

For a moment, it was nothing. It was as if he could feel it, but the pain was remote because it was so great his mind simply blanked it out and refused to feel. But then it came. Then it came, like the worst pain he had ever experienced, and Cas howled out in agony. The blade twisted, then pulled out, and it was a matter of moments before the blackness was the only thing he saw. In the last moment, the one that seemed to stretch out for eternity, that seemed to be a slowed-down black and white void, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d go to Purgatory. If Crowley were there, it wouldn’t be so bad.

But there would be no Reaper to save them this time.

***

When he was sure he was alone, Crowley flicked his tongue out over his dry lips. He didn’t really need to eat or drink, and it wasn’t like he was an alcoholic or anything, but he could have murdered half of Hell just for a glass of Craig right now. The way those fool were treating him was downright _criminal_. Chained like a fucking dog (how does it feel to be the Winchesters’ bitch?) in a dungeon, in the dark, on his own. 

He stirred, trying to get the fucking collar to move. It chafed. Everything chafed. The cuffs, the collar, the inseam of his pants. The socks around his toes felt cloyingly warm and wrong, and he could feel every last stitch around the soles of his shoes. Not normal, was it? No. Definitely not. Same way it wasn’t normal that he could feel the slight curve in the seat of the chair, or the way it was slightly off in one leg, how he felt like he was going to fall out sideways if it wasn’t fixed, and he had to lean the other way to balance it out.

Crowley wasn’t even sure why he’d stolen the syringe ~~a lie, he knew perfectly well~~ , just that it had seemed like a good idea at the time. When their backs were turned. Maybe to use the sharp end of the stick to prise open these damned restraints? Yes. That.

But when he pulled it out of his sleeve and stared at it, it wasn’t the business end of the thing he was looking at, it was the red, dark red contents. Blood. Kevin’s blood. Bright and sticky, and he could imagine the taste of it, almost. Which was weird. He’d tasted blood plenty, but it left him with some strange sort of… gnawing hunger deep in the pit of his belly, in his… in his _bones_. It wasn’t as if he was turning into a vampire, or anything. No. He had no real desire to consume it, no sudden need to sparkle or grow fangs… 

...he just… he remembered when Sam… when Sam had pushed it in, and the way he’d felt. It was insane, really. It had hurt. Not in the same way a human would hurt, of course. It wasn’t the penetration (or the ignominy of it), it was… the way the feeling of something _wrong_ had spread through him. An awareness of himself, of his place in the universe. A prickling sensation when he remembered all the bad and wicked things he had done, the people he’d bought and sold, the necks he’d snapped on the way up, the way he’d killed Meg - Meg! He shouldn’t feel guilty about that, and somehow he did. He’d taken glee in her death, and it was… it was wrong?

Not to mention the other feelings. The _worse_ feelings. He loved Castiel with every last fibre of his being, with every coil and tendril of the smoke that was the remains of his soul. It had been a long time since he’d had a heart, but whatever remembered being one... hurt. And it made all those loving feelings somehow… strange. Like they were just as fierce and tender as they had always been, but now there was a layer, somehow, of madness. Like it flickered around the edges of his perception, and the pain he felt when he knew they were apart and Cas might be… hurt… it was sharper, keener. 

It had hurt in the church. It had hurt, because Sam had forced him to face the demons (hah) in his chest, the ones he normally tried to pretend did not exist. It was the blood, he was sure. It was like he was… jonesing? He’d had the last shot, but the bastard Moose had held him on the edge, and left him wanting. He’d pushed him almost to climax, and then stopped the touching. Cocktease. Even Cas wasn’t that cruel. Maybe he’d be able to get the strange feelings under control if he just… pushed it back into a vein and slid it in before it was too congealed to move and… oh. _Oh yes_. The minute it hit his system, it was like a drug. A feeling he didn’t recall so well, these days, because he’d been demonic so long now, that… well. It was what he imagined it would feel like, because the _itching_ was gone, and it was this glorious sensation of **feeling** in his chest. 

It was almost as good as being with his angel, and it was the sort of sensation he only normally had either in his presence or thinking of him, combined with some filthy aftertaste of guilt. Crowley did his best to ignore that, to slide the uncomfortable associations to one side and just cling to the memory of Cas. Cas. He’d broken Crowley, more than Sam ever could have, and it made him laugh a little to himself. If they’d approached him right, maybe he even would have said yes… this feeling was not so bad… and if it meant Cas would love him more…

He dropped his head back, and simply coasted. He didn’t even notice the Hunter watching from the shadows, and it was probably for the best.

***

Nothing. Nothing at all. No bright light, no Heaven, no Hell, no Purgatory. But Cas wasn’t able to tell, because he was a non-entity. He was nothing, until there was bright, white light and a kindling warmth. It was familiar. It felt… it felt like… Crowley…

He woke with the demon’s name on his lips, blinking into amused eyes. Not Crowley. Not by a long shot. Balthazar?

“Well, Cassie, I’ve been called a great many things over the years, but that’s a new one. Not sure if I should be flattered or not.”

“What-- April-- Balthazar, she is da--”

A finger pressed to his lips, and Cas stopped with a little growl. He was only trying to warn him.

Balthazar cocked his head to the side, and Cas looked to where he indicated. There was April, seemingly… packing up a video camera?

“Had to make it believable, Cas. Sorry about that, we didn’t know how convincing you’d be if you knew it was a set-up,” April said with an apologetic smile. “Not to mention we had to _actually_ kill you, to make sure Bartholomew believed me.”

“I-- I don’t understand…”

Balthazar patted him on the cheek, then unlocked the handcuffs. Cas brought his hands in front of him, rubbing at them even though Balthazar appeared to have healed everything, including the headache from the blow before. 

“Simple, my little crumpet. Bartholomew put a price on your head, and April here answered the call. That way she gets the bounty, and you get to continue living. If he thinks you’re dead, it should buy you some extra time to do… whatever it is you’re doing. You _do_ have a plan, right?”

Cas pushed up out of the chair, righting his clothes. His shirt was cleaned, which was good. He didn’t want to have to wash any more of his blood out of anything. “I… yes. I… was planning to kill Abaddon, first, and then if I survived--”

“Wait. Wait. Abaddon? Cas. _Heaven_ is in pieces…”

“But Abaddon is a more present threat,” he argued. “I am going to kill her, and then… then I will work with the Prophet to see if we can fix Heaven.” The ease with which he lied, the way he pretended it had been his plan all along… in reality, he had never thought as far ahead as that. Once he’d come to the conclusion that Crowley was… that… Once he’d come to that inevitable conclusion, his thoughts had been solely: **revenge**. He wasn’t even sure he would make it out alive against her, but he sure as Hell had to try.

“...this is about the demon, isn’t it?”

Cas wondered where Balthazar had honed his fine detection skills. “Yes.”

“You really do love him, don’t you?”

Balthazar still used the present tense. It… it hurt. “I do. If he is still alive, I need to find him. If… if not… I need to avenge him. You… understand, don’t you?”

The other angel tilted his head to one side, considering. “I’m not going to change your mind, even if I don’t, am I?”

Cas shook his head, no. 

“Well, then, of course I understand. I’ll be honest with you, the bitch has caused me a bit of a headache, too, so there’s no love lost there.”

“Yeah, same here. I mean, you know I avoid the politics,” April agreed, “but she’s nothing but a pain in everyone’s ass.”

“I… I promise I will try to fix Heaven just as soon as she is dead. And… I find out if Crowley is still alive.”

“Alright. But in the meantime, I might pay your little monkey friends a visit,” Balthazar said. “Maybe they could do with my help?”

“Very possibly,” Cas agreed. “Sam was hurt, but Ezekiel was helping.”

“Zeke, huh? No wonder I hadn’t heard from him since the fall, if he’s working with them. Probably wants to keep off the radar. Speaking of: you have been doing a surprisingly good job of it.”

“Thank you. How did you find me?”

April grinned. “Reaper, remember? And when you offed Ren, it sent ripples through the network.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Couldn’t be helped, Cassie. Just remember to move as fast as possible if you have to kill anyone else.”

“I-- yes. Thank you. I will.” He then looked to April. “I am sorry I did not believe you were acting on good intentions, earlier.”

She winked at him. “Kind of the point, you know.”

“So, this is where we leave you to sleep off the murder,” Balthazar said, with a clap of hands. “Unless you want to invite us both to play strip poker…?”

He smiled, but shook his head. “No… I am sorry. I think… I think I need to be alone. If that is not offensive. Though we should exchange numbers.”

“My god, it has a cellphone?” Balthazar slapped hands to his face. “Wonders never cease.”

A roll of the eyes, and Cas took a photo for his phone book. “Your number, please…?”


	100. Chapter 100

Cas made his way to Tara’s, as fast as the car and then his legs would allow. The notes in the storage locker had not been very clear, only saying that John and Tara had interrogated Smitty (when he’d been bragging about the Blade) before they exorcised him. That was it. It was frustrating, but fortunately according to Dean’s Hunter network connections, she was still around. Around and running a little pawn shop, with Hunter’s signs in the window.

When he entered, he saw the older woman leaning over the counter, seemingly engrossed in a book of cartoons. Cas wondered if it was a ‘comic’ or a ‘graphic novel’, as no matter which term he used he always seemed to pick the incorrect one.

“Hello. Are you Tara?” he asked.

“That's what the sign says,” she said, straightening up. “Can I help you?”

“I am hopeful that you can. I am a friend of the Winchester family. I believe you knew John Winchester.”

“How’d you know John?”

“I did not, I know his sons: Sam and Dean.”

“Right. And they’re still in the business?”

“Yes, they are.”

“And you are?”

“My name…” he glanced around, a force of habit now, to survive. “...is Castiel.”

“Kinda name is that, sugar?”

“I am - was - an angel.”

“I don’t like the past tense, you know. What you go and do, fall?”

“I--” Sigh. He kept having to explain this, it was tiresome and painful. “I was tricked by another angel. You may have noticed recently a ‘meteor storm’. That was the angels being cast down from Heaven. For me, my Grace was taken from me… so I am no longer an angel. But it was not deliberate.”

“Right. So. What you think I can help you with?”

“I understand that you and John Winchester once encountered a demon who had knowledge of the First Blade. It is imperative I locate it.”

“Look, pretty, you really don’t want that old relic.”

Cas stood up as squarely as he could. “I do. I am hunting a Knight of Hell. I understand it may be the key to killing her.”

The Hunter narrowed her eyes at him in return. “Why? They're all dead.”

“Unfortunately, that is not true. One of them did not die, she merely… moved. In time. Her name is Abaddon.”

“You gonna let me do the checks on you?” 

Cas nodded. “Please: I would expect nothing else. I have spent much time around Hunters.”

“Right. Two steps to the left…”

He did as he was told. 

“Now back to the right.”

Was this that dance that Crowley sometimes sang? He did as he was bid, and cocked his head at her curiously. 

“Right… c’mere. Few more things to try…”

***

“Well, this is cosy. Have to say, I never pegged you for the retro chic type, Dean,” Balthazar said, spinning slowly on his heel as he took in the surroundings. “But it works. Nice. Oh - and swords, too! What a perfect bachelor pad, you’ll never get laid here. Except maybe by geeks. If that’s your bag.”

Dean stood the moment the angel appeared in the room, the chair scraping across the floor loudly. "How the Hell did you find us?"

“Well, for one, it’s not warded against us. And for two? I just asked Cassie. So. You going to give me the grand tour?”

Dean raised his eyebrows before pulling the chair back up to the table and sitting down, shuffling through papers. "Kinda busy right now."

“So I see. I’m going to be kind and assume that what has your focus is fixing Heaven, and that’s what you’ve got the Prophet doing? Yes? Because that would be the good and right thing to do.” Balthazar beamed widely. “I’m right. Tell me I’m right.”

"That's what we're trying to do, yeah. Not exactly an easy task."

Hands clapped together. “Excellent. So… you need any help? I have a few feathered friends, still. And other contacts. Certain voluptuous Reapers, amongst their number… I can be a good ally, Dean. You know that.”

"Can _you_ read the tablet?" The Hunter narrowed his eyes at the angel.

Balthazar looked affronted, fingers on his chest. “Me? Do I look like a secretary to you, Dean? Maybe I should ask you if you still pick nits from Sam’s luscious locks?”

Dean gave his best bitchface, eyes rolling. "It was an honest question. Kevin's just moving a little too slow. I know he's doing his best and all... I just want this over and done with."

“So do we all. Do you have any idea how inconvenient it is, being grounded? Not to mention, all my brothers and sisters crashing my parties. I had a good thing going on before, you know?” The angel paced closer, wanting to peek at the papers Dean was pushing.

Dean pulled the papers close to his chest, eyeing Balthazar carefully. “You want in on this, you’re gonna have to prove you can be trusted. Nothing personal, I just don’t trust angels.”

“A sad side-effect of spending time with Castiel, I fear.” Balthazar made a face, well aware of the fact he’d twice escaped with his life by the skin of his teeth, now. “How can I convince you of my intent, even though the fact that it’s _Heaven_ should be proof positive enough.”

“Cas ain’t the problem, it’s all the other dick bag angels running around. How about you head on out, don’t cause any trouble for us and don’t call us, we’ll call you, capiche?”

“Man, you are such a killjoy, Dean. Fine. But don’t cry to me if you wind up in a ditch. Send my love to your male model boyfriend - sorry - **brother** , won’t you?” A wink, and Balthazar was gone.

Dean scoffed loudly to himself as the angel disappeared. _Fucking angels, man_. If Balthazar couldn’t read that damn tablet, he really was of no use right now. 

***

Satisfied he was not anything dangerous, Tara pulled out a file, dropping it onto the shop counter. “The demon said the archangels used a weapon that could kill the Knights of Hell. We'd never heard of anything like the Knights of Hell or a First Blade. John thought he was lying, trying to save himself. We took him out, and that was that. Then we went our separate ways… but I could never let the Blade go. Something like that could really give a Hunter an edge, you know? I looked all over the world - destroyed my knee and my life. And all I found?”

Cas watched and listened, curious. “What did you find?”

The Hunter unlocked a wall safe, bringing out a tray full of esoteric ingredients. “A location spell for the Blade that I could never finish. Couldn't find one ingredient: essence of Kraken.”

“I see. And if I could find some?”

“I’d say you’re damn lucky.”

“I am an angel,” he said. “Or… I was. I do know some people, that perhaps you do not.”

“Well, if you can do it, I’ll be damned. But I’d sure like to see it done. Bit late for me, I’m mostly retired, but still…” She whistled lowly through her teeth.

“I will come back tomorrow, if that is acceptable?”

“Sure thing. Castiel, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. That is my name.”

“See you tomorrow, then.”

***

“ _Yeppers?_ ” came the cheery voice down the phone.

“I need essence of Kraken,” Cas told her, when he got back to his motel room. “Very quickly. And then I should have a location.”

“ _Kraken you say? Hmm. I think we have that stored. Lemme consult the… yeah. Belize. It might take me a bit. How long you got?_ ”

“I said I would have it by tomorrow.”

“ _Yeesh, you don’t half move, huh? Okies. Leave it with me. Don’t leave that motel, and I’ll be there by first thing in the morning. I’ll ring before I knock so you know it’s me._ ”

All very cloak and dagger. “Alright. I promise I will stay here, and attempt to not use my knife on you when you appear.”

“ _Oh, **stop it** , you! Gotta dash. Back in a jiff_.”

Cas lowered himself onto the bed. It was still early, and he really didn’t have anything else to do. He had eaten sufficiently, and he was clean, and he had urinated reasonably recently, too. He just sat and stared at the wall for a while, trying to find some hidden meaning behind the pattern on the wallpaper, but it didn’t reveal any secrets to him, and he decided it was purely abstract.

Humanity was very boring. No wonder they loved their televisions. Cas turned his on, making sure he didn’t watch anything he normally would with Crowley (‘we can DVR it for later, angel’), and ended up watching something about giant trucks. 

It was boring in the extreme. 

***

Sam was feeling invigorated from his run, and vaguely craving cranberry juice. If Dean hadn’t drunk it all. Why did he avoid real fruit and veg like the plague, but steal Sam’s juice? He wiped the back of his hand over his brow, panting slightly.

“Oh, hey, Dean. ‘Sup?”

“You’ll never guess who stopped by for a visit while you were out… speaking of which… you sure you should be running like that all the time? Maybe you should slow it down a bit?”

“I feel great, Dean. And exercise is good for the body, and the soul… who came by? Cas?”

Dean sighed. “No. Try _Balthazar_. Wanted to know if we needed his _help_.”

“Balthazar? Wow, what did-- _this is a bad idea, Dean_.” One look in Sam’s blue eyes said it was the angel in charge of his tongue, right now

Dean glared at the sudden change in his brother’s eyes. “Slow down, turbo. I didn’t say I took his help.”

“If you ask Balthazar to visit again, Dean, and I am present? What then?”

“I didn’t _ask_ him here in the first place, he just showed up. How the Hell was I supposed to know he was gonna stop by for a little pow wow?”

“This… it is not good, Dean. You need to stop any future visits. It would be unfortunate if something were to stop me healing Sam.”

“Well, what the Hell you want me to do? I can’t ward this place against angels?” Dean argued. Seriously. That was the only way to keep the angels out and if he did, then Zeke was gone - and so was Sammy.

“I… do not know. But you must make it plain to them that this place is out of bounds. Perhaps you should designate a meeting area?”

“I’m not an idiot. I told him I’d call him if I needed him again. If he shows up here uninvited, there ain’t a lot I can do about it. Besides, what’s it matter if he finds out, you said you were a good guy, right?”

“You must be firm, Dean. And… we do not want Sam to know I am inside of him, currently.”

“Yeah, trust me, I know. I think I was pretty fucking clear.”

A nod, and then his whole demeanour changed, “--he say?”

“What? Oh… uh… he, uh, wanted to know if we needed his help or anything. I told him we had it under control.” 

“Well, another angel helping us can only be a good thing, I guess. Did he mention Cas at all?”

“Nah, nothing about Cas. Just asked if we needed him. I asked if he could read the tablets. He said no. I said then no dice. And _poof_. Mojo’d outta here.”

Sam’s lips pursed in thought, and he nodded. “Sounds about right. Look. I’m gonna grab a shower, then I’m gonna fix up some dinner. You joining in, or you still eating that shit that’ll kill you?”

“Somethin’s gonna kill me eventually. Might as well be delicious, huh?” he grinned.

***

“I have the essence,” Cas said, as soon as he entered.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Seems your contacts panned out.” Tara looked at him, curiously. “Maybe you should give me your details. For the next poor sap who’s needy. Get you on the grid.”

“I… think perhaps after the Abaddon situation, but you can always contact me via Sam and Dean.”

“Fair enough.” 

The Hunter pulled out the ingredients, and when he handed over the essence, she mixed it together. Next was a large map of the United States, which was spread fully out. The spell-liquid was poured steadily over the paper.

“You wanna do the honours?” she asked, holding out a box of matches.

“You have been looking longer than I have. Please, do.”

A grin, and the smell of phosphorous as she struck it over the board, then dropped it onto the paper. In a flash, the map fizzled down, leaving only the outline of Missouri, and a spark in the middle highlighted an area just to the North and East of Springfield. “Well, there you go, angel.”

Cas tried not to let the wince show, but he could pass it off as a bad association with his fall, not… not the fact that only one person got to call him that. “Good. I should set out at once.”

Tara snorted. “Alright. You got plenty of supplies?”

“Yes… yes, I think I do. If this works out, I will let you know.”

“Don’t go getting yourself killed, alright? And when you see those two little rugrats again, say I said hello.”

“I will. Thank you again.”


	101. Chapter 101

Cas drove up to the house - the only one for miles - and smiled slightly when he saw the bee hives, and the man in the suit tending to them. Bees. He liked bees. And honey. Except it made him think of his King, so it was bitter-sweet. Still. He made sure (yes, Cecily, I understand) to put the handbrake on again, and got out of the car.

“Hello,” he called out, cautiously.

Cain slowly turned towards the voice, irritated that someone was approaching him. “What do you want?” he said, walking away from the bees, lifting his visor to get a better look at the intruder.

“I came here looking for… looking for a weapon. Perhaps you can help me?” Cas didn’t recognise this person, and without his Grace, all he could see was the human face. He couldn’t tell if he was something more than he seemed… 

“There’s no weapons here... not unless you consider the bees a weapon, of course.”

“I suppose you could turn them into one, if you tried hard enough,” Cas admitted, “but that is not their natural state. They only sting in self-defence. It would be a massacre if you used them to attack.”

The corner of Cain’s mouth threatened to curl up into a small smile. “That is true… it’d be a shame. Such noble creatures…”

“You have a very nice hive,” Cas said, walking calmly closer. He supposed they could, indeed, sting him, but he did not intend to look threatening, just appreciative. They were busy away at their work, making honey. “But it is not honey I came here to discuss. My name… is Castiel.” He looked to see if there was any flicker of understanding at that.

“Castiel, the angel?” he said, eyes narrowing. “Not very angelic, I see… what do you want, Castiel?”

“So you do know me… you are more fortunate than I. I am looking for the First Blade. I require it, very urgently.”

“How did you find me?” Cain ignored the statement about the First Blade - for the moment.

“A tracking spell, on the Blade.” Head to one side. “It drew me here.”

“Does anyone else know you’re here?”

“The woman who helped me with the tracking spell, a Hunter. But she would not reveal this to anyone.”

Cain nodded slowly. She’d have to be taken care of, if that was the case. “I see. Well, this has pleasant, but once a century is quite enough.” He lowered the visor back down. “Take care of yourself, Castiel,” he said as he turned to walk back towards the bees.

Cas was not about to give in that easily, he stepped forwards, a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I do not think you understand, whoever you are. I _need_ that Blade, to kill Abaddon. I will not rest until I have it, and until she is dead. You **must** help me.”

At the mention of Abaddon, the wedding ring Cain was still wearing on his left hand felt heavier under the thick gloves of the protective suit. “I see the part about you being brave rings true, Castiel. And there is nothing that I _must_ do. Not anymore.”

“You need only give me the Blade, I will do the rest. I will even return it to you, once she is slain. If you have heard of me, you should know I-- you should know I follow through with my plans, no matter what they are. Abaddon must perish, and I must be the one to end her. With or without your blessing.”

“I have nothing to give you, I’m sorry.”

Cas let go of his shoulder, but he would not step back. “You are… Cain, are you not?” he guessed.

“I am… good guess.”

“In that case, why do you have the weapon that killed the Knights of Hell? Why did you take it from the archangels?”

“You’re very intelligent, Castiel. However, your deduction is slightly off.” Cain gave a heavy sigh before lifting the visor once more. “I didn’t take the Blade from the archangels because the archangels didn’t slaughter the Knights: I did. The only one who knows this - aside from you and I, now - is Abaddon.”

“But the story goes that you - that you trained the Knights? You were the first demon, and they were what followed. Why would you kill your own?” Cas didn’t understand. “Why are you here, with the bees, hiding?”

"Once again, I admire your bravery. But if you'll excuse me, I have errands to run in town as soon as I finish up here. Goodbye, Castiel. Never return."

Cain made his way back over to the bees, fiddling with the boxes for a moment before stalking back towards his house. If Castiel knew what was good for him, he would not follow.

Cas stared at him for a moment, unsure. He had not bargained on finding someone to resist him, and certainly not someone who had _trained_ Abaddon. After a pause, he decided there was nothing for it. He needed the Blade, and he would just have to keep trying.

“If you killed the other Knights, if you have honestly renounced your past ways, then how can you let Abaddon run riot, now? You… you are not the only demon who is different, you know. Or… possibly.” If he was still alive, which Cas was almost certain he was not. “I am here for Crowley.”

“For Crowley?” Cain raised his eyebrows just a bit. “I thought this was about stopping Abaddon?”

“It is. I have reason to believe that either she has captured or… killed him. And… I need revenge.”

The demon held Castiel’s gaze for a moment. “You love him.” More of a statement than a question. He could respect that… very much. “I’m sorry she’s taken him… I wish there was more I could do. If you’ll excuse me, please, I’ve got some errands to run in town. See yourself out, and good luck, Castiel.” 

Cain would not be made to stay and have this discussion. No. Not now… not ever. He got into his truck and headed towards the town. He didn’t really have all that much to do in town, he just needed to be away from Castiel and that conversation.

Cas just stared after him. No… he’d come this far. He couldn’t… he couldn’t leave empty handed. Fine. When he was gone, he was just going to have to find the Blade for himself.

***

With the boys out, Linda decided she was going to see what all the fuss was about. She’d heard the screaming, but he only seemed to scream when there was no one else there. Understandable, really. It was inhumane, the conditions they were keeping him in. And whilst she had no reason to like demons considering what they’d done to her son… 

She went into the little dungeon with some water and a sandwich, not really sure what she’d find.

Crowley focused on the footsteps coming closer and closer to the door. He couldn’t help but be excited at the prospect of not being alone with his thoughts for even a minute. The steps were light, confident… similar to Kevin’s… but not quite… ah, yes…

“Hello, darling. What’d they send you for? Playing another angle to _squeeze_ more names from me? A woman’s touch?”

Linda shook her head, putting down the water and sandwich. “They are out. I came to check on you.” She nodded at the things she’d brought. “Not poisoned.”

The demon tilted his head, narrowing his eyes in thought. “How very thoughtful… what’s the catch? Can’t blame me for being a mite skeptical, can you?”

“I’ve been reading,” she admitted. “About demons. Angels. Vampires. Werewolves. All of it.” Lips pursed in thought. “I wanted a chance to talk to you. You are probably the only demon I will get to speak to, safely.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Ms. Tran.” Crowley winced at the mention of a cat-- _kitten_. STOP. He forced a smile. “But you should know that by now, shouldn’t you?” He folded his hands across his abdomen. “What would you like to know?”

Linda went to the corner, finding a chair. She put it down on the other side of the table and then sat down. “I am worried about Kevin. Even if this Abaddon demon is destroyed, it seems the angels are… interested in him as well. He’s my son, and I’m concerned about him.”

“As you should be. Most angels aren’t as cute and cuddly as you humans make them out to be. He is, however, a Prophet. Unfortunately, until he’s-- well… he’ll always be a Prophet which means he’ll always be valuable. Can I give you some advice?”

A little nod, and it was clear she was actually going to pay attention to whatever it was he said.

“If Kevin was _my_ son, I’d take him and all that knowledge you’ve learned about angels and demons and I’d run. Run as far away from the Winchesters are you can. In my experience, people in their general vicinity _don’t_ last long. The general lifespan is even worse with a price on your head. Not to mention, as soon as they’re done with him, they’ll most likely kick the two of you out without so much as a thank you.”

“But how can we hide? If Heaven and Hell are out for us… isn’t this the safest place?” she asked, but she did not sound convinced.

Crowley scoffed. “The Winchesters are a magnet for death. I hardly think you’re safe if you’re with them. Surely you’ve picked up a thing or two in your reading… have you by chance read Edlund’s work?”

“No, is that a text book?”

The King of Hell could not help but laugh. “I suppose you could think of it as educational reading material. Carver Edlund has written a series of books entitled ‘Supernatural.’ All about the Moose and Squirrel. Very insightful. And descriptive. If you don’t believe me about the body count in their wake, take a look at those books. It’s all true… might have you second guessing the so-called safety of their wings…” another cringe… “for lack of a better term.”

“I see. Do you have any other advice for me? I assume as King of Hell you must have more knowledge than most demons.”

Crowley grinned at the compliment, even if she was only looking for information. “I should probably reiterate that with both Heaven and Hell on your tail, it will not be easy to disappear, but it _can_ be done. Any other questions?”

“I think that is all for now.” She nodded at the things she’d brought. “Were they not a good idea? I know demons can eat and drink, I wasn’t sure if you _needed_ to.”

“I don’t need them, but it is a much appreciated gesture. Good to know the Winchesters haven’t sullied your opinion of me too much,” he smiled. “Thank you kindly.” Crowley doubted it would take away the _need_ for **other** things, but it was worth a shot and perhaps would distract him for at least a few minutes. “If you don’t object, I’d prefer to enjoy them once you’ve gone - not to be rude, of course, you’re welcome to stay and chat. Company is few and far between these days.”

“I’ll let you eat in peace,” she said, “but I’ll come back for the dishes, so no one knows I was here.” And she supposed a test of how reliable he would be if it came back to her that she’d visited him.

“I look forward to your return, sweetheart.”

Linda nodded. Perhaps it was because he wanted something, but he was much more reasonable than she’d been led to believe. She was going to have to up the ante on her reading. The sooner they got away from this life, the better.


	102. Chapter 102

Once Cain was gone, Cas did the only thing he could think of, which was break into the home of the first demon. He’d been dating the King of Hell for - what - five years? Just because he wasn’t an angel now, it didn’t mean he’d suddenly feel cowed. He supposed most people would be put back by meeting the Father of Murder, but then Cas had faced off against his _maker_ , Lucifer.

Breaking in was a clumsy affair. He first tried picking the lock, but it was a skill he had not really mastered. Next was a brick through the window, and then the once-angel unceremoniously wriggled through the mess.

Inside it was… cosy. Normal. Homely. Somehow, in the light of this, Crowley’s own nest-building tendencies seemed a little more normal. He peered around, pulling out drawers, looking under the couch cushions… nothing. He felt a bit bad invading Cain’s privacy like this, but… this was for Crowley. He just hoped he could find it before he came back.

Eventually, Cas had exhausted all his ideas, and he was loathe to call Sam or Dean and ask for help. He was sure he had checked everywhere. Twice. He stood in the living room, at a loss. He noticed an old photograph of a woman (Colette, said the inscription), but there was no evidence that anyone else lived in this little house. She had been married. Or was, perhaps, still. If she was a demon. Did demons marry? He supposed it was possible.

Cas went back to the door to let himself out, and then he saw Cain’s truck in the distance. Damn. His car was still quite obviously parked out front. Oh well. He was just going to have to accept the inevitable…

After cursing under his breath from the moment he spotted the car still in his driveway, Cain felt a bit more calmed as he got out. He held two large grocery bags in his arms as he walked back towards the house.

"I see you're still here."

“I still need the Blade. I am sorry for the inconvenience, but it truly is vital that I have it. If you would give it to me, I would leave you in peace.”

"I no longer have the Blade. It's gone," Cain replied flatly.

“But… the spell. It brought me here. Was… was it wrong?”

Another hint of a smile that was just barely noticeable. "Your spell brought you to the source of the Blade's power. _Me_."

But the ex-seraph was simply more confused. “Does that mean you can kill Abaddon, then? And that I can’t? I don’t understand.”

Cain pulled up his sleeve, revealing a mark seared into his forearm. “The Mark and the Blade work together. Without the Mark, the Blade is useless. It’s just an old bone.”

“I see. So… will you kill Abaddon for me, or not?” This was turning into a monumental waste of time. Cas was beyond frustrated now. “You killed the others, why not Abaddon?”

Before Cain could answer, though, Castiel’s phone vibrated against his leg, making him jump. ~~Please be Crowley. Please be Crowley~~. He pulled it out, and frowned. A text from Cecily. Forgetting it was rude, he opened up the message to read it.

Cain looked rather taken aback at Castiel as he pulled his phone out. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting your uninvited, very intrusive visit to my home?”

“I… I am sorry. It appears we may soon have company.” Considering the text from Cecily was something about ‘incoming’ and ‘tripped alarms on warehouses’ and ‘oopsie’ and then an apology about not being able to come. He texted back a brief thanks and slid the phone away. “It may be prudent to activate any defences which you have. Abaddon… may know I am here.”

“Abaddon knows you’re here. In my home.” The demon’s face was stern as he glared at the once-angel.

“That was a regrettable error,” he admitted. “It would be helpful if you could assist me in defeating them.” A flick of each wrist, and he had an angel blade in either hand. “I am no longer what I was, but I can still put up a fight.”  
“Good luck, then.” Cain sat down in a chair as he placed one of the grocery bags onto the table, pulling out an ear of corn. He paid Castiel no attention as he began to shuck them, humming quietly to himself.

“...fine.” He set his jaw in a firm line, shoving the table under the back door, and going into the front room. 

From outside was the squeal of several trucks full of demons, who pulled their vehicles up in a crescent, circling the front of the house.

The ringleader leaned out from his truck, hollering abuse at them. “I guess we can't wait any longer. Your friend Tara was very helpful! Got downright chatty... after I peeled all her skin off. We don't want any trouble, Cain. Just want the bastard angel. I got a new master to impress, and I'm betting bagging the last King’s fuckbuddy will do just that…”

Definitely Abaddon’s lot, Cas thought. He was about to barricade the front door when two of them burst in. He stabbed one right off in the gut, ducking under the second one’s roundhouse swing, to stab him somewhere near the kidneys. Keeping himself as protected as he could, he twisted that angel blade, and the other one went up and under the demon’s throat, tilting his head back as he screamed in his death throes.

Cas managed to get the couch into place behind the door, but then two more charged through the window. One got caught in the curtains, and he bundled her up, stabbing through the fabric until she went limp in his arms. The other demon was more graceful and circumspect, eyeing him cautiously and circling.

He waited the demon out, circling just as slowly, eyes taking in everything. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for his Grace back. He could burn the filth right out of its meatsuit, could destroy the whole lot outside. Eventually the demon got tired of the foreplay and lunged in. The knife caught Cas’ upper arm, making him hiss in pain. He wasn’t about to go down to just some regular fucking demon, though, and he leapt onto the couch and used it as a vantage point, flinging himself on top of the demon, an arm wrapped around his throat and legs around his waist. He blocked the stab wounds as best he could, jamming the knife into the demon’s ribcage and bounding off the corpse just before it faceplanted.

Panting, bloodied, exhilarated… Cas went to the window to peer out. No more? That was it? He wiped the sweat from his brow and bent to clean his blades on one of the dead demon’s shirts.

“I apologise for the damage to your property,” he said, his breathing levelling out already.

By the time Castiel started apologising, Cain had finished shucking the corn and had opened a beer to enjoy as he watched the show.  
He looked up at Castiel as he spoke. “You know, I felt connected to you right from the beginning. Kindred spirits, if you will. You and I are very much alike.”

Upright again, Castiel sheathed his blades ready. “Would that be on account of the number of siblings we have both slain? Well. I suppose you only killed one, but you did father murder in the process.”

“The same sin in different amounts and ways… still… you can’t deny the resemblance, can you?”

“I suppose not.” The once-angel cocked his head curiously. “Though I suspect our reasoning was somewhat different, it does not excuse the fact I - with the exception, perhaps, of the archangels - have killed more of my siblings than any other angel.”

“I will not lie, your body count is impressive. Why do you think I did what I did, Castiel?”

“It was… a test?” Cas asked. “Although… you secluding yourself here also indicates you no longer wish to be part of the violence.”

“That is correct, on both accounts. You’re persistent. Never give up on what you believe is right, do you?”

The once-angel pulled himself upright, to his vessel - no, **body’s** \- full height. “No, Sir. I have died multiple times. I have faced three archangels. I have become God. I have been to Purgatory, I have defeated Leviathan. Abaddon is simply another person who stands in my way. If she has… if she has truly killed my demon, then nothing - **nothing** \- will stop me from having her head removed from her shoulders. I am sincere in what I say.”

“Archangels? Really? Aren’t you just a seraph?”

“When I faced Michael and Lucifer I was only an angel. They killed me, of course, but… I got better. I was a seraph when I destroyed Raphael.”

“Ah yes, Lucifer…” Cain absent-mindedly rubbed over the mark on his arm. “You do realise, that Abel wasn’t talking to God… he was talking to Lucifer. Lucifer was gonna make my brother into his pet. I couldn't bear to watch him be corrupted, so I offered a deal: Abel's soul in Heaven for my soul in Hell. Lucifer accepted... as long as I was the one who sent Abel to Heaven. So, I killed him. Became a soldier of Hell - a Knight.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed at the tale, working through the logic. “That… is not how the story goes. Why… why did you let them paint you as a monster, if you only ever acted out of love?”

“My Knights and I, we did horrible things - for centuries. Bringers of chaos and darkness.” Cain mused quietly for a moment before he continued. “And then… I met Colette,” he said, waving a hand back towards the mantle where the old photograph was perched. 

Ah… now it made sense. “So, though you became a demon, and you - I presume - enjoyed it, once you met someone you loved, things were… different?” It was not hard to see the parallels. “She was your me. I mean. You were her Crowley.”

“Yes… she knew who I was... and what I was. She loved me unconditionally. She forgave me. She only asked for one thing.”

“That is why you are here, and why you refused to fight those demons, isn’t it? And why you no longer have the Blade.” Cas bit his lip. He had never asked Crowley to be… well. Anything that he was not. Of course, he’d have preferred a little less hellfire, and he’d asked for a truce between Hell and the Hunters, but… would he ask this? He wasn’t sure if he would. “What happened to her? Is she in Heaven?”

“I believe she is. At least, I hope that’s where she is. When the Knights found out, they took retribution. They took Colette, so I picked the First Blade back up... and it felt _so good_ to have it in my hands again, and I slaughtered the Knights of Hell.”

“All but one.” Abaddon. 

Cain nodded slowly. “It was 1863… I had just returned home to Colette from running errands. When she turned to face me, it was not my wife, my love - it was Abaddon. She had possessed her. Abaddon tried to _reason_ with me, to get me to come back to the Knights. I tried to tell her I was done with that life, that I put it behind me. Colette was going to die, the only thing holding her insides together was that _bitch_. I lunged forward with the Blade… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t think Abaddon would smoke out…” 

The demon took a breath in, determined to finish the story. “I told Colette I would find Abaddon and kill her. Colette just gazed up at me with her beautiful eyes and she said, ‘No, there's been enough killing. Promise me. You're better than all of this.’ So… I buried and I walked away. From everything.”

Cas… felt his heart break. So it was true: a demon really could repent, could change. Of course it was true, but here was further proof. He stood in closer, and put an awkward hand on the demon’s arm. “I am sorry. Truly, I am. But she will continue, if I do not stop her. There must be some way, so that… so that no one else’s love must die.” Then his eyes flickered down. “I could… offer a deal, of sorts?”

Cain scoffed. “I have no deal… nor would I wish to bring her back into a world of pain and suffering. Things are infinitely better these days than in the 1800s, but no. She’s at peace and that’s how I wish for her to stay, as much as it kills me. I can give you the Mark, if that’s what you truly want.”

“Are you sure? I have… I have a soul, where you do not. I could offer it, in exchange. I… love should not be… split up.” Pained blue eyes, and it was clear who he was remembering.

“You are truly a very different kind of angel, Castiel… well. You know what I mean. I cannot express the depth of my gratitude for your offer. If you wish to kill Abaddon and take the Mark, it can be given to someone who is worthy… you must know, with the Mark comes a great burden. Some would call it a great cost. I will only transfer it to you if you are absolutely certain it is what you want.”

“Yes. I want it. If she has truly killed my King, then I need to end her. And even if she has not, then I need to make Hell and Earth safe once more. Please - I will continue your legacy.”

Cain stood, facing Castiel. “You know, I never expected an angel to be my successor,” he grinned. “If you’re sure this is what you want, then good luck, my friend. You’re gonna need it.”

“I have been an angel, a seraph, a God, and now a human… I did not expect any of this. However, I think it’s only right.” And now, he was going to be the successor to the very first demon. It seemed he was running the gamut of personalities.

Cain’s fingers curled around Castiel’s wrist. Almost instantaneously, every vein in the demon’s arm glowed hot, angry red. The fever-mark spread into Castiel’s forearm, and the angry welt - the Mark - spread out like a painful scar into the ex-angel’s flesh. Cas bit his lip, refusing to hiss in pain, even as all of the magic transferred from Cain into him. Instead, he closed his eyes and thought about revenge. Yes. That helped.

“You alright, Castiel?”

Thunder. His blood pounded in his ears like thunder. It coursed through him, and Cas could feel the beat of his heart against his ribs, could feel the strength in his muscles. He was **strong** , even now. He did not need Grace to kill. His eyes flickered up, and his teeth were clenched tight. “Yes.” The word was bitten out, but then… he forced the anger down. Now was not the time, nor the place. “Yes.” Calmer.

Cain nodded slowly, making sure that Castile was, indeed, okay. “You’ll also need the Blade. Nothing can destroy it, so I threw it to the bottom of the deepest ocean. It's the only way I could keep my promise to Colette. You find the Blade, kill Abaddon, but make me a promise first. When I call you - and I _will_ call - you come find me and use the Blade on me.”

“...yes. I promise, if that is what you wish. I hope when I do, that it restores you to Colette.”

Another nod from the demon as he patted Castiel’s shoulder. “Thank you in advance.”

“For what it is worth, Cain… I know that demons can change. I have seen it myself. If anyone can earn their redemption, then I am sure you can.”


	103. Chapter 103

Crowley had been through nearly every song he knew at least two or three times in his head...he had lost track of how long he’d been chained up in this ridiculous place. It was all he could do to keep himself sane. He’d been singing so long, now, that his voice was hoarse. But still, he sang the next song on his mental list, not caring in the slightest that tears were falling:

“ _Nothing goes as planned_  
 _Everything will break_  
 _People say goodbye_  
 _In their own special way_  
 _All that you rely on_  
 _And all that you can fake_  
 _Will leave you in the morning_  
 _But find you in the day..._

_Oh, you're in my veins_  
 _And I cannot get you out_  
 _Oh, you're all I taste_  
 _At night inside of my mouth_  
 _Oh, you run away_  
 _'Cause I am not what you found_  
 _Oh, you're in my veins_  
 _And I cannot get you out_...”

Sam was passing, looking for a book, when the plaintive, soft singing caught him by surprise. His fingers trailed over the spines, his eyes not even seeing titles any more.

It was cruel. It was beyond cruel. Cas was out there, doing god only knew what (Dean was very cagey about that, and Cas never contacted Sam), and here was Crowley… he could be an _asset_. Now they’d decided not to cure him, keeping him caged down there was just… it was just **wrong**. He opened up the secret entrance, and stood, silhouetted in the doorway.

“Crowley.”

The demon sniffled, wiping at his face the best he could with the chains restricting him. “Come for more names, Moose?”

“Look. I… I don’t agree with Dean, alright? Surprise, surprise. Sometimes we don’t see eye to eye. And one of the things we don’t agree on, right now, is you.”

Crowley squinted, chewing on his bottom lip. Dean wanted him locked up, probably dead… who knows what else that bloody idiot wanted... “Meaning _what_ precisely?”

“Meaning, I know what I saw in that church, Crowley. You… you were different. I know you didn’t want to be put in that situation, but you… you were ready. I mean. You did… mean the things you said, didn’t you?”

“The details are a little foggy on my exact words… which part specifically are you asking about?”

A tongue that poked out past lips, a hand rubbing up and down an arm. “You asked… about forgiveness. You remember that?”

“...yes.” A slight bow of his head. “Yes, I do.” And he did. Loud and clear he remembered that part of the conversation. Forgiveness. It was something so foreign to a demon, really, yet… strangely close in a way he wasn’t sure how to describe. 

“You… do know why we did what we did, don’t you? I mean. I know you don’t agree with it, which is… yeah. Fine. But we… we honestly thought, given the alternatives, that it was the best thing for you and Cas.” Sam’s eyes were searching, looking for understanding. _Forgive **me**_.

Tears pooled in Crowley’s eyes once more. “I can understand how you thought you knew better, but… what you have to understand is Castiel is an angel. I’m a demon… or…” but he didn’t want to finish that sentence. Not in the least. “Immortal. Forever. What happens to the other one of us when that option is gutted out of us? Taken away at someone else’s hand? You can understand why it’s difficult for me to consider a life where either of us would suffer for the rest of bloody eternity without the other?” He could feel his hands shaking. He had known what it felt like to lose Cas and that was the last thing he’d wish on his love.

“Well… if you… uhm. Were… I dunno. Good enough. You’d go to Heaven, right?” Sam was shuffling from foot to foot, though. Should… should he… “And. You might not wanna hear this, but Cas? Uh.” How the Hell did you say this? “...might not be as immortal as you… remember.”

“Come again?”

“There was… an… accident. With Metatron. Cas thought he was doing a spell to fix Heaven, and it turned out that dick had an axe to grind instead, so… Heaven’s closed for business, right now.”

“And what _precisely_ do you mean by ‘accident’...?! Moose, you tell me every single detail and you tell me right **NOW**!”

“Hey, hey… calm down. Cas is fine. He’s just… uh. A little… low on juice, okay?”

“What the bloody Hell do you mean ‘low on juice’? You’ve got me locked the fuck up in here while he’s out there alone, I assume,” a snarl as he fought at the restraints, “and _low on bloody juice_? Are you **fucking kidding me**?!”

“And you think I’m gonna let you out when you’re screaming at me? I like my head attached to my body.”

Crowley took a breath in, pressing his lips together while he tried to look away from Sam to compose himself. His knuckles were white, crushed into fists as he slowly looked back at the youngest Winchester. “I want to see Cas… _please_ , Moose. I’m begging you. Let me out. As long as he’s safe, so are you.” 

“And what if he’s not, and it’s nothing to do with me?” Sam asked. “Dean’s been… he’s been acting weird. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“If it’s nothing to do with you, then it’s nothing to do with you. I just need… Sam I need him… _please_.” Crowley heard that Dean was acting weird, but to be honest, he had no interest in **anything** except Cas right now. 

Fuck it. Dean was _really_ being weird, and even a deposed King of Hell inclined to help them was better than a powerless one, singing diva-licious songs to himself. Sam walked over and was about to unlock the cuffs when suddenly… he just stopped. Stock still. There was a telltale flash of blue behind his eyes, and then he stood up straight.

Crowley furrowed his brow, holding his chin up. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he watched _blue Heaven_ flash behind Sam’s eyes. “What have we got here?” the demon asked. “A little stowaway in the bunker, hmm?”

“I cannot allow Sam to free you,” the angel said, his gaze turning down to Crowley. “And now I cannot trust that you will keep my presence a secret, either.” Instead, he walked over to the row of torture equipment, picking up an angel blade. “It will be difficult to explain your death to him, but I am sure Dean will manage to think of something.”

_Oh, shit_. A ~~nervous~~ chuckle. “Surely there’s some sort of deal we could make, isn’t there? Anything at all you could want in exchange for keeping your secret? You should know I’m good for my word, yes?” The demon’s eyes never left the angel blade.

The angel masquerading as Ezekiel paused at that, head to one side in that oh-so-angelic way. “Your position is weakened, Crowley, I know this. You can no longer truly call yourself ‘King’. And you are a demon... I believe I am much better with Dean Winchester. They did, after all, manage to trap you here.” No… Dean was definitely the way forwards. The angel put one hand on Crowley’s forehead, the blade ready to push into his chest and stop his meatsuit’s heart.

Panic set in, this was not how it was supposed to end, no. Even if he was reduced to less than he was, or human, or whatever. He did the only thing he could think to do. He bellowed out Dean’s name, Linda, Kevin, anyone as he fought against the restraints, trying to push back as far as he could away from… whoever this hitchhiking angel was. Certainly the last name on his lips was not going to be one of the ones responsible for his imprisonment and - apparently - ultimately his death. He took a deep breath in and with all the power he could muster, he screamed _Castiel_.

***

Cas parked the car (handbrake on) and took a moment to stare at the bunker from the outside. After all this time, it seemed strange to be here. Strange, because he thought perhaps he was unwelcome. Dean certainly never made him feel wanted over the phone, not recently. But they had resources, and Cecily being on the run was reducing her efficacy. So if they could help him track down the Blade, then… he rubbed at his arm, but caught himself doing it and stopped. 

Out of the car, and over to the front door. Dean should be ready for him, after all. He had notified him long in advance. 

Dean opened the door as Cas walked up. “Hey.”

“Hello, Dean.” Smile. Remember to smile. People smile. I am people. “May I come in?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, walking away from the door and heading down the large staircase. “What is ‘of great import’ that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?”

“I have the Mark of Cain, now, but I need the Blade. I would have spoken on the phone, but I was concerned that Abaddon had acquired Cecily’s monitoring capabilities, and I did not want to give up my ‘game plan’, or lose my ‘edge’.” Lips together. “I was hoping you and Sam would be able to assist me in locating it, so that I may kill Abaddon and get my revenge.”

“You have the Mark of what?”

“Cain, Dean. The first demon. The Father of Murder. He is the one who killed the other Knights. He has given me the Mark, so that I may wield the blade and avenge both our loves.” Come on, Cas thought. Get with the program. This was not difficult.

“Wait… Cain, the one who killed Abel? From the Bible? He was a demon?” Knights? Avenging love? What the fuck was Cas talking about? “You’re gonna have to slow down, Cas. I’m not following you.”

“Lucifer was talking to Abel, so Cain made a deal with him to save his brother, and he slew him, and thus became the first demon and the first murderer. Dean - I understand that you were not religious, but I thought this story was reasonably well known? So he has passed on to me the Mark - the symbol of the power of slaughter - and with it, I will be able to strike Abaddon down in Crowley’s name.” If he had to explain one more time he might just strike Dean down. 

No. Breathe. Breathe. He rubbed his arm - where the Mark lay, below the shirt - against his side to try and get the sudden _murderdeathkill_ feelings under control. “...speaking of brothers, where is yours?”

“I don’t fucking know. Running an errand or checking on-- something. I dunno… so what do you need our help with again? Tracking something? That cute chick with the glasses can’t help?” 

Cas was about to reply when he heard a familiar voice echoing loudly through the bunker. No… that couldn’t be? Yelling every name under the sun? He glanced just once at Dean, reproachfully, before he launched his body from stand-still to full-out sprint, careening through the old building in an attempt to locate the source of the yelling. 

Thankfully, Crowley carried _on_ yelling (trust his demon), and the door was still open. But Cas did not expect to see Sam advancing on his King with an angel blade... his King who was somehow still seated, and screaming his name and…

… _red mist_ came down over his vision, anger and self-righteousness lending him strength he normally wouldn’t have. He grabbed at Sam’s arm with his wrist (the Mark, the Mark guiding his fingers) and he _pulled_ it back with a guttural **snarl**. “ _Hands off my **King**_ ,” Cas snapped.

“Angel! Cas! Are you alright?!” Crowley was a mess of emotions, so much so that he could barely breathe.

“I will be,” he insisted, “when Sam stops trying to _murder you_.” But then he noticed the way Sam was… Sam was not quite… Sam? There was electric blue behind his eyes, and Cas had his own angel blade out in a heartbeat, pacing between the angel possessing his friend, and his demon. “ **Who are you**?”

“Who I am is unimportant… Castiel. I am simply--”

Whatever or whoever he was, he never finished, because with a flash of light he was gone. Dean getting there just in time to see Kevin completing the angel-banishing spell.

Cas’ angel blade clattered to the table as he launched himself onto the demon’s lap, arms around his neck, squeezing him chokingly tight and refusing to let go. “ _Ohgod_ ,” he whispered against his ear, voice rough with emotion. “I thought you were dead. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Crowley, I’m sorry.”

Crowley couldn’t move his arms around Cas so he contented himself with a handful of white shirt, clutching at it and pulling him as close as possible. “I’m not dead, love, I’m here and you’re here, now. God, I missed you, angel. I missed you so fucking much. I love you, Cas.” He was mumbling into Castiel’s neck, planting tiny kisses in between words as tears - finally happy - rolled down his face.

Finally letting go of the choke hold on his neck, Cas moved his hands to hold Crowley’s face up, gazing down at him with such _longing_. God, he thought he’d lost him, but here he was, all along. Why didn’t he come sooner? Sam - the angel in Sam - had nearly… no. He kissed him, then. As hard and as long as he could, until the world sort of started to go brown and wobbly, and then he pulled back. Eyes closed, forehead pressed to forehead.

“Dean,” Cas said, as calmly as he could. “You are going to give me the keys to these chains. You are going to do it now. If you do not do it, right now, then not even our friendship and history will prevent me from extracting them from you. And as I was the monster the monsters ran from in Purgatory, I think you would prefer that did not happen.”

Dean frowned as he reached into his pocket, pulling out the keys, mildly disgusted by Cas and Crowley’s little display. “Here,” he said, shoving the keys towards the once-angel.

Kevin, meanwhile, mumbled his apologies and scooted off backwards out of the room.

Cas took the keys, eyes slanting over to Dean. “This discussion is not over, Dean,” he said, unlocking Crowley as fast as he could.

“You wanna tell me just what the Hell is goin’ on here?” The Hunter all but yelled.

The moment the demon’s arms were free, they were wrapped tightly around Castiel. “My love, I’m so happy to see you!” Hurried kisses anywhere he could reach before looking down at the trap on the floor. 

Cas put the collar onto the table, reluctantly peeling from his demon’s lap. “I should be asking you that, Dean. It appears you had kidnapped my demon and hidden him from me, when you knew I was worried about him. If you think what I have done in the past was wrong? Well. This… is unforgivable.” He picked up his angel blade from where he’d dropped it, and knelt just long enough to score a thin line in the trap. He wanted… he wanted to _hit_ him. The Mark was burning red hot on his skin, his hand balled into a fist. He could just slam Dean’s head into the table, slam it and slam it and...

Crowley grabbed hold of Cas’ fist with both hands. “My angel… not now.” He took a step out of trap and the two of them were gone. Well. He still had his powers, although, he felt a bit drained from that. 

The demon had whisked them away to a far away hotel that he liked to visit on occasion. He looked at Cas carefully, still holding his fist between his hands. There was only the face of his vessel. No Grace, no glow, just the vessel that was Cas. The vessel and the bloody Mark of Cain.

“Angel…” Crowley asked, worried, “what happened? What did you do?”


	104. Chapter 104

“Angel… what happened? What did you do?” he asked, moving a hand over the place where the Mark now existed on Castiel’s forearm.

Cas pulled that arm back like he was stung, and then smiled a little brokenly. “Nothing. Well. A lot of things. None of them important. I should… I should have been finding you.”

“None of them import-- Cas. You have the Mark of Cain, how is that not important?” Crowley was shaking. All of the things that were going on with Castiel were important right now. The whole no wings, no Grace, _human_ , but the most concerning - and perhaps most important - at the moment was the fact that he was sporting a new tattoo of sorts. One that was far from some kind of protective sigil or spell or anything helpful, really. The Mark of Cain was not something to take lightly. Although he suspected Cas had good reasons - or at least intentions - had there been no one to talk him out of this? This was bad. This was very, very bad.

“I thought Abaddon had killed you,” Cas said, withdrawing into himself a little, pulling back. “I thought… and Cecily had found information on the First Blade, but it turned out that Cain - not the archangels - had killed the Knights, so this… this was the only way to r-- Cain wouldn’t do it, so it had to be me.” His eyes were begging for understanding. “I am sorry. I saw no other way.” Story of his life.

Crowley frowned, pulling Castiel in for a tight hug once more. His poor angel. Always trying to do the right thing. “Oh, Cas. It doesn’t always have to be you that saves the world, you know.” A small smile was on the demon’s lips as he pulled back from the hug. “What about your… what else happened, my love?”

Except it wasn’t entirely about saving the world, was it? Cas tugged his sleeve back down, glad that Crowley at least wasn’t yelling at him like Dean probably would have, if they’d not left. Selfish, he was. Utterly selfish. And foolish. He couldn’t quite meet Crowley’s eyes as he waved in a vague gesture encompassing… everything. “Metatron. He tricked me.” How many times must he say that? “He broke Heaven, and he used… used my Grace to do it. I am… I am human, now.” 

And now Cas was ready to bolt out the door. What if Crowley couldn’t… couldn’t love him? And what if every time he looked at him, he saw how _wrong_ he’d become, how fragile he was, how… foolish and weak? His jaw hurt from biting on his tongue to stop himself from crying.

Crowley grabbed Castiel’s face with both hands, thumbs gently gliding over his cheeks. “I love you. I love you no matter what you are, or what happened, or what you did. It doesn’t matter. What matters now is keeping you safe. I can’t live without you, Cas, so you need to stay close, okay? I love you.” He pressed their lips together. “I missed you so much, love. So very, very much.”

The ex-angel’s hands came up to curl over Crowley’s, clutching tightly. Not as tight as he’d once been capable of, though. “But you will have to live without me, when I die. Unless… unless I sell my soul. Although I suppose I have done enough bad things in my life to become a demon, anyway. And now… now I am… _weak_. I eat. I sleep. I frequently need to visit that disgusting room. Crowley, I--” Horrified eyes looked up. “ _I break wind_...” he whispered, as if it was a sacrilege to even mention it. How could anyone love someone who made such disgusting sounds and smells with their body? How did society **function**?

Crowley couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, angel..." another kiss. "I don't care that you're human - well... I should say, it doesn't change my feelings for you. Not in the least. Nothing ever could..."

Crowley licked his lips, trying to ignore the still shaking, sweaty hands, and overall jittery feeling he had from what was surely withdrawal from the blood.

"I know what would make us both feel better... care to join me for a shower, kitten?"

But Cas was not so utterly self-absorbed that he missed that, no. His head snapped up at once, and he realised he’d been selfish, worrying about himself, and what Crowley would think. “I ne-- Crowley… _what did they do to you_?” Hands in his shirt, peering at him with all the intent he could muster. He could not longer see at a glance, and his eyes tracked left to right, trying to work out what was different. “You’ve been… you’ve been their prisoner. I should rip Dean Winchester’s heart right from his chest, and let _him_ see how it feels.”

"Plenty of time to worry about those damned fools later. They... they tricked me, took me prisoner. Said it was to stop Abaddon at first, those trials. What they were trying to do was close the gates of Hell forever. Took me to some old run down church... they meant to 'cure' me, make me human. They pumped me full of Gigantor's blood. Of course, once they worked out if they went through with it that it'd kill the Moose, they stopped it right before the final injection... left me a bit… well... _needy_..."

“I. Am going. To kill. Them. Both.” The words were a low snarl, and Cas’ hands were in fists again. “I am going to. Remove their spleens. And feed them to them.” Hands on Crowley’s face, his eyes murderous. “If I had known, I would… I would have been there, Crowley. I did not… I did not know.” And then he grabbed him in another hug, holding him as tightly as he could. “ _Fuck_ ,” he said, and he rarely swore like that. “Are you okay now?”

Crowley returned the hug just as tightly. "I know, angel, I know." He sighed heavily. "I'm alright, just feel a bit... off... I suspect they got me a bit addicted to the blood. I wasn't aware that was a thing, but here we are."

Cas held him out at arm’s length, peering at him. “...I was not aware, either.” A frown that just would not go. “How do I fix that, for you? Would that shower help? Or… should I get…” What did you get addicts? Cas was at a complete loss. “...icecream?”

Crowley grinned. "Yes, let's shower, then we can have icecream and catch up on our shows? I've really missed you, Cas."

Another quick kiss, and then Cas grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the bathroom. “I haven’t watched any of our shows, just in cas-- uh. I just. I couldn’t.” With no magic, all he could do was strip his clothes as fast as his hands would allow. “So we can watch all of them together. And - and -” No, Cas, stop freaking out. Shirt off, but trying to keep his arm out of sight. He hadn’t even realised that quite aside from the Mark, there were scattered, faded bruises and the odd cut from fighting that marred the surface of his skin. 

“When you are feeling better, and we’re… done…” Damnit, he was blushing, turning on the shower so he didn’t have to look at him. “...we should work out how we get the Blade, so that I can kill Abaddon, and you can get Hell back.” And maybe, after that, Heaven. But he was going to try taking things one step at a time.

Crowley smirked. "Time for shop talk later, love."

The demon dragged his hands down Castiel's arms slowly. Strange to see cuts and bruises on various stages of healing on him…

"You're so beautiful, Cas. Inside and out." He placed a kiss just underneath the Mark, gesturing for the ang-- for Castiel to get inside.

Cas offered a cautious, but heartfelt smile in return. At least he had an attractive body, he supp-- stop it, he told himself. Stop getting upset. He had Crowley back, which was enough. If he’d had to give up his Grace to get him back, then he would have. So. Yes. He climbed into the shower, and then stepped in close. Hands up but just… hovering. “I don’t know why, but I am… afraid.” Eyes up, hoping he would understand. “Everything is different, now.”

“Of course you’re afraid. It’s scary,” the demon said, arms snaking around Castiel’s waist, letting the water run down in between them. “It’s very different, but like I’ve always said, we’re stronger and better together. Now that we’re finally reunited, there’s nothing we can’t handle, Cas. You know that right?”

“I-- yes, I--” No. No, it was terrifying. But he was going to try, because… he wanted to keep it together. He should be overjoyed that he had his demon back, not panicking. He grabbed Crowley’s face, shoving him back against the wall to kiss him. Damnit. His heart was pounding, and panic never seemed to feel like this before? Or had he just been able to ignore it?

Crowley kissed him back for a moment - how could he resist - before he pushed a finger in between their lips, guiding Cas’ head back just slightly. “Sweetheart, what is this… panic? I’m not going anywhere, not this time.” He trailed the finger down over Castiel’s chin, then throat, eyes never leaving those too-blue orbs. “I know you’re scared…” the demon placed his hand over the Mark gently. “But I’m here, okay? I’m here. And we’re gonna get through this together.”

The demon slipped around behind Cas, pushing him gently against the wall, thumbs pressing in firmly on either side of the base of the once-angel’s neck. He rubbed in slow circles, placing tiny kisses just below his hairline. “I want you to try to relax a bit. There’s nothing we can do tonight about anything because we both need to rest a bit, okay?”

Cas nodded, but it was… it was hard. His fingers clawed at the tiles on the wall, and the tension radiated out from him in waves. The worry was still there, and for all Cas was trying to get on top of it, he couldn’t quite manage to will it down. “I’m… not used to this. To feeling like this, so… out of control. It’s… it’s like… _them_ again, inside me. I do not like it, Crowley. And now I--” His eyes moved to the Mark, and then he glanced over his shoulder. “It is… difficult to relax. How… do I do it?”

“Might be one of those times where you need to find a safe place to release your anger, kitten. You know you’re safe with me… if it’s physical rage you need to get rid of… you know I can take it.”

That made him start. “I… _no_. Crowley, I can’t… no.” Even if he was just a petty, useless human right now, he was not going to lash out against him. No. “ _Please_... just…” head against the tiles, and he punched the wall with all his strength. “ _Help me_.”

Crowley curled around Cas, arms holding him tightly. “Cas… I don’t have much knowledge of the Mark of Cain aside from what everyone knows… I don’t kn--” The demon took a deep breath in, biting his lip. “How do you _feel_ , my love? What specifically is clamoring around in your head?”

What? Hah. Cas laughed, but it was a sharp, rough bark of a laugh. “ _Everything_ , Crowley. Everything. How I want to punch Dean until his face is bloody. How I want to run screaming from all my responsibilities. How I let you down. How I’m-- how I’m going to… to…” He was choking on the words now, choking because his chest felt tight. “--die. How I’m not going to be _around_. How I don’t… I… I’m **scared** , and I just want you to hold me. I want you to hold me because my heart is pounding, my head is swimming, and I’m so _scared_ and I love you so much that I want to _throw up_ and I just don’t feel like I’m in control any more, of… anything… I…”

No, no. He did not mean to send him into a spiral. “Cas, my love. Kitten, focus on me.” Crowley turned Castiel back around to face him. “Only me. I’m here. I’m here to hold you, to keep you safe, to watch over you… and don’t forget… King of Hell… I know a lot of swell tricks,” he grinned. “We’re finally back together again and I can kiss every inch of you and hold you every night and do all the things that we both dreamt about while we were apart. Right now, I want to take care of you. I want to kiss you from your head to your toes and cover your body with mine. Does that sound like something you could enjoy?”

Although he couldn’t look up and meet his eye just yet, Cas managed a brusque nod. His hands were back on Crowley’s hips, because he didn’t seem to really know what to do with himself. He was feeling as awkward and shy as he had the first time they’d been together, like he’d forgotten everything he’d learned. He didn’t even feel like the same person, not really. “I… need to know you still… want me.” It sounded stupid to say it, but he was still worried. “I am sorry. I know I am being… I know this is not helpful. I just… this morning, you were dead.” And I was sure I was going to be, soon, when I took down Abaddon. “...everything has changed.”

Crowley ran a finger down Castiel's jawline. "There will _never_ be a time when I don't want you, angel. And before you protest, regardless of your species, you will forever be my angel, my saviour, my true love. I'm serious, Castiel. I love you regardless of wings or vessels or anything else. I love _you_ and there is nothing - **nothing** that will change that. So, please," a kiss to his temple, "...let me shower you with kisses, throw you onto the bed and ravish you," he said, lips ghosting down past his ears, brushing against his throat as he spoke.

"I want to be inside you, Cas... to feel you wrapped around me tight and welcoming." Hands that drifted down over chest and belly, over bruises and scrapes. "Please, my love... my angel, I want you so bad... let me make love to you?"

The once-angel offered his throat to Crowley’s finger, and even that touch **burned**. It was maddeningly hot, and he’d missed it. He’d missed lots of things, but those times he’d woken up aroused and alone and flung himself under cold water in protest were nothing compared to just his lover’s _voice_. No amount of imagining or remembering equalled how it slid down his spine and made him whimper, low and hungry. 

Cas’ hands moved fast, one curling around the back of his neck, making sure he carried on with those fucking _lips_ , the other gripping Crowley’s elbow, trying to guide his hand lower. Lower, between his legs, where his prick was rising in sharp interest. His skin felt like it was itching and burning, his dick felt like it wanted to ram through a brick wall, and more than anything he just _wanted_. He tried to guide Crowley’s hand lower, between his parted legs, trying to show how willing he was. “Please,” he whispered against his ear. “Without you, I haven’t even dared touch myself. I… couldn’t. It made me too sad. Please, Crowley. Please… fuck all the fear out of me, make me yours all over. I feel right in your arms. I need you inside of me, I need you deep inside…”

A small snap and a magic-slicked finger was carefully teasing at Castiel's hole while Crowley's mouth nipped and sucked at the once-angel's throat. Slowly, testing the waters, he pushed the finger in with a grin. The demon focused his attention back on Cas' throat with a growl against the skin there, resisting the urge to _bite_ , to tear into the once-angel's flesh.

The blood... the blood was _right there_ , flowing along happily just under the skin and he could almost--

The demon moved his lips back to Cas'. "I love you, angel. I love you so much... how does this feel?" he asked, wriggling the finger inside of Castiel. "Doesn't hurt, does it?"

Oh, fuck, Cas thought, panting heavily. He knew it would still feel good, but it was strange. He was such a creature of bodily sensations now that it was sort of… overwhelming. Good, but… much. He tried to part his legs further, but it was difficult, standing up. Still, he tried to grind down onto his hand, and then he bit Crowley’s lip. Not quite enough to draw blood, but close. 

“G-good,” he stammered out. “No… doesn’t hurt. More. Please. Harder. _Damnit_ , Crowley, you know how long it’s been, right?” Not the longest they’d been apart, but the longest they’d been apart and both known about it. He hooked one leg over Crowley’s calf, still trying to fuck himself onto his hand. “Don’t tease the human. He only wishes he could still keep up…”

Crowley chuckled as he pushed a second finger in slowly, making sure Cas was alright with it before moving harder as requested. A sharper nip at Castiel's shoulder as he took the once-angel's hand and wrapped it around the demon's already very hard cock, unable not to moan when he felt Cas' familiar grip on him.

"Trust me, I'm not teasing you, love. I just don't want to - I just want to make sure you're ready." He moved his free hand to Castiel's prick, stroking him faster than he'd meant to. It was just... nearly impossible to control himself right now.

Cas swatted Crowley’s hand off his own dick, his movements a little clumsy. “No… don’t. I want to come on your dick, Crowley, not before then.” He pouted a little, because _damn_ did he want that hand again. But he had to be sensible about this before need took over too badly.

The demon was not human, though, so Cas felt no guilt whatsoever about slamming his hand furiously fast over his shaft. It was what he wanted for himself, right now, but he was just going to have to do it to Crowley instead, because he wasn’t sure how long he’d last if he did _this_. His fingers bumped against the King’s balls as he jerked him dry and rough, trying to get him turned up to the point he stopped _fussing_ and just took him as hard as he realised he needed. He scraped his teeth over Crowley’s jaw, then clamped down on his earlobe with a snarled: “ _Fucking fuck me already_.”

Crowley turned his head to nip at Cas’ lip a little too hard, bright red blood sneaking out from underneath. Before he could stop himself, he was sucking that lip into his mouth. The tangy liquid on his tongue was good, so… _yes_.

A snap and the pair of them were relocated to their bed, Crowley hungrily pushing Cas’ thighs apart, trying to push himself in slowly, but failing. He glanced at the once-angel’s face to make sure he was alright. 

Cas spread his legs as wide as he could manage, scrabbling to get hold of whatever of Crowley he could reach. “Damnit,” he growled. “Just… faster, Crowley. _Faster_.” Probably too fast, but Cas wanted - needed - to feel overwhelmed. He needed to feel something stronger than the panic. Ankles wrapped behind Crowley’s ass, trying to yank him in.

This was already getting out of hand, but Crowley couldn’t stop it. Cas frantic and begging was just… he hadn’t even really dared daydream about his angel, all the time he’d been taken. Not spread out, damp, naked and begging. There was only so much he’d been prepared to torture himself with, and jerking off in a dungeon was not his bag. But Cas was _human_ , now, or near as damnit. And he didn’t want to break him ~~but also he did~~ , so he hooked his hands behind Cas’ knees, shoving his legs back firmly - until they almost touched his shoulders. The better to bear down and into him. He’d been as careful as he could with his magic, but even so, he could feel how Cas’ body was stretching to take this, to take the angle, the intrusion.

“...not even once?” he asked, as he tried to distract himself from the aftertaste of copper in his mouth. “All that time, and you didn’t wank _once_ , angel?”

Castiel groaned at the position… it was so very different… so… _much_. It was perfect. They were perfect. “No. I-- I could only think of you, and it was… it was upsetting.” 

“Oh, Cas…” He was grinning. Damnit. He was grinning like a lunatic, and he hooked Cas’ legs over his shoulders so he could drop to his hands (either side of his head) and kiss him again, finding enough purchase to slam hard into him as he did. “...never change. You know?” But then he was near his lips again, his lips that were broken, and… it wouldn’t hurt to just run his tongue over it, to break the skin again and let it slide over his tongue and… fuck. “...Cas…”

Castiel could not respond with anything other than a moan every time Crowley thrust in hard. Yes, yes. This is what he needed. To be overwhelmed by something other than the--

His name on the demon’s lips brought him back to the present with a grin. “Crowley… m-m-- missed you. _Fuck_.” One hand was pulling at Crowley’s short hair, the other was clutching at his back, pulling him in, keeping him as close as he could. “I-- _Crowley_.” The once-angel wasn’t even sure what exactly he was trying to say, his mind fogged with pangs of pleasure that were stronger with every thrust.

A groan that was something like agony, and Crowley grabbed hold of the sheets around Cas’ head, never letting up the fierce pummeling. It felt… it felt like coming home, having Cas’ beautiful, sun-slicked skin under his lips and fingers. Feeling the strength in the thighs around his shoulders, or the way he tensed inside when Crowley changed the angle just that bit more, angled his thrust to fuck him harder into the groaning bed. He couldn’t help but worry this was all some kind of feverish dream, that maybe he didn’t have him back, but the smell of soap and sweat was too strong to be a memory, right? 

Stronger than that was the scent of… of… his eyes would not leave those plump, broken lips. He’d tasted Cas’ blood before, but it hadn’t been _human_ , and he hadn’t been… addicted. “I-- Cas, I-- n--” No. No, Crowley. Don’t. With a cry of frustration, he shoved his head into the pillow and hid his scream there. He could push one hand under Cas’ neck, the other reaching between them to wrap around his lover’s dick. If he focussed on that, on making Cas scream, he could… think about something else than the way he could _hear_ his heart pounding, could jerk him off nastily rough. He’d said he wanted to come on his dick, after all. And now he was well and truly on it, so it wasn’t cheating.

Castiel's teeth sank into his bottom lip, tongue darting out to taste his own fresh blood there. The once-angel's back arched under the thrusting, a low growl rumbling in his chest as Crowley jacked him _hard_ but it felt - it felt so fucking good. Teetering on that fine line of pain and actually being hurt, his breaths were ragged and quick and if Crowley didn't stop soon--

"Crowley, I-- I'm... very... I'm close..."

That was the point, Crowley thought with a little snort. He worked his hand faster, wanting to white out Cas’ mind, wanting to show him how _good_ he could still feel, angel or not. How Crowley could take care of him, love him. He wanted Cas to know it was still all okay. “I know,” he said, though it was almost a growl. “So come for me, my sweetheart. Come for me, and know I adore you. I love you, I cherish you, and I will do everything I can to make you feel it.” A twist of his wrist, a thumb that scraped his nail just below the head, not enough to really hurt, just to sting.

Castiel hissed at the sting. It felt so good. Everything felt so good. _Fuck_. Hands clutching at whatever part of Crowley he could reach, he turned his head, teeth scraping against the demon's neck as best he could. "Crowley... I... oh, **fuck**."

Cas was overwhemled by the onslaught of sensations as he came all over Crowley's hand and his own belly. His nails dug into the King's back as he screamed out his demon's name against his shoulder. His come only slicked Crowley's hand more, sending shivers like electric shockwaves through his body.

More than the feeling of being buried inside of him, or Cas in him... Crowley had missed that blissed look on Cas' face, the way his eyes would glaze, and his jaw clench then go slack. He'd missed the breathless panting, and the ragged words. He felt smug. Very smug. He was pleased to make his angel happy like this, and for a moment... it was enough. Enough to distract him from the pounding copper sound.

He kept stroking him until Cas whined in protest, then he lifted that hand up and - eyes on his - licked it delicately clean. Every last trace, and then he had hold of Cas' hips. "My beautiful angel," he purred, slamming in as fast as he could, without breaking him. "FuckImissedyouIloveyouIloveyouFUCKYES..." He managed to fall forwards right at the end, close enough to kiss him hard, to choke the words of love into his mouth as he came. It was almost... almost relief, as much as pleasure. Like a mental breath he'd been holding for weeks on end... and then he felt a little guilty for the harsh use, so he rubbed Cas' hips where he'd been holding like a vice.

Castiel did not mind the the rough touches, not one bit. It was a distraction for him as well. Once he had calmed down a bit, it was only slightly sore and the rubbing from Crowley was definitely helping. 

"I love you so much, my King. I missed you... I missed this... I missed everything," Cas said, eyes locked on Crowley's. He lifted a hand to the demon's face, fingers trailing down with the lightest of touches, a sated grin on the once-angel's face.

Crowley leaned into the fingers on his face, looking... decidedly goofy, considering. He just was... happy again. "I didn't... hurt you, did I?" he asked. Carefully, he eased his ang-- his lover's legs down from around his shoulders, and then taking advantage of his strength, he rolled them so he was underneath, and Cas could just get comfortable astride him. He was still a demon, after all. He could handle a little five-eleven collection of muscle and bone.

He stroked a loving hand over his spine, trying to just make him feel cared for. It was important, the things you did after. He was not in this just for the (admittedly mind-blowing) orgasms, after all. "Did I make it clear how sexy I still consider you, my Polaris?"

Cas was happily rolled, snuggling against Crowley, humming happily at the finger running along his spine. His own fingers rubbed lazily over the demon's jaw, neck, earlobe, whatever they landed on as Castiel tried to catch his breath. "You didn't hurt me. You gave me exactly what I needed... you always do, my love." 

The ex-angel took a deep breath in, his heart rate coming back down to normal. "I am glad you do... I was worried you wouldn't--" He couldn't finish the sentence, so he just buried his head against Crowley's neck, placing a tiny kiss there.

Crowley understood, of course he did. He stroked over the back of his Cas' neck, and rumbled quietly. "I thought the same, you know. I thought they were going to make me... human. And then I wouldn't have you forever. But... we'll find some way to fix you, and if we don't? King of Hell. I'll... work something out." He hugged him fiercely tight. "Simple little thing like mortality isn't going to stop us, Cas. Metatron is just another Dick Roman. We beat him, we beat Raphael... we can do anything."

He did believe it, he thought. He thought it was true, with some sort of... sickening, cloying hope that... damnit. He felt like he was watching one of his shows. "It's not your wings I find sexy, Cas. It's..." he pushed him up, just enough to jab a finger into his chest. "... _you_."

Castiel smiled. Crowley always knew what to say. "I would love you regardless of demon, or human, or whatever else. I will always love you, Crowley. No matter what." He sighed, feeling the sting of the Mark once more, now that he was calming down. "I just... I hope I didn't... I was only thinking about killing Abaddon. What if we can't get rid of the Mark?" 

A million other questions sat on the tip of the once-angel's tongue, but he held them. He knew Crowley would know all of them. No need to say them aloud and make it worse.

He simply lifted that hand carefully, and placed a kiss to the sore-looking skin. "Cain gave it up, Cas. It must be possible. We'll work out how. And if we don't? Well. I'll get a matching tattoo if it makes you feel better." He was joking, mostly. Trying to cheer him up. 

Head to one side, considering this beautiful, wonderful creature he'd somehow caught the heart of. "I'm... you know... You know I'm touched you did this for me, don't you?"

Castiel’s lips curled up into a smile. “I would do anything for you, Crowley. Anything. You should know that by now.”

“Even so, it doesn’t stop me being touched, darling. Now… I assume you’re hungry? How about we rustle up some room service and avail ourselves of the television? I just… I just want to spend as much time with you in my arms as we can. We need to make up for lost time… and the world can wait, at least for a few more days…”

The once-angel had not paid any attention to himself and the rumbling of his stomach before Crowley pointed it out and suddenly he was _very_ hungry. “Yes, food would be wonderful. And I agree. We’ve waited long enough to see each other again. I missed you so much. It was terrible.”

The demon pulled Cas off his lap, and propped him up on a small mountain of pillows. He knew a thing or two about decadence, and he curled up alongside him. A snap of fingers, and there was the menu. “Anything your heart desires,” he promised. “Anything. Just make sure you leave room for icecream at the end.”


	105. Chapter 105

“Dean, before you say anything… I didn’t know what else to do. I… I thought he was gonna kill Cas.”

“No… no. You… you did good, Kev. It’s okay.”

“The Hell was going on, though?”

Dean was sitting at the table, running a hand over his face. “It’s a long story.”

“Don’t you think you owe us the truth?” Linda asked, pulling up the chair opposite and staring at him, the quintessential immovable object. 

“...yeah. Okay. It ain’t gonna be easy. Well. You know how me and Sammy were working on closing Hell…?”

“And then you stopped, even after you had me translate them for… months? Still bitter.”

“Kev, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let it kill Sam. So. The trials cut him up pretty bad, and Cas wasn’t answering, so I had no choice but to, uh, beg for help. I’m not proud, but I… put out an open prayer. All ears. And then this angel, Ezekiel, showed. He said he could fix Sam, but from the inside.”

“...so why was he trying to kill Cas?”

“I don’t think he was.”

“Then why was he…” Linda didn’t really know what to say to be polite. 

“From what I can guess, I think… I think Sam was letting Crowley out, and then he realised that the King of Dicks would sense him. And then Cas showed up and… it all kinda went to shit. And now - because Kevin banished him - that angel is off running around in Sam. And Sam don’t know, and now we gotta find him, and get him the Hell out.”

“...why didn’t you tell Sam that there was an angel possessing him?” Linda was frowning, clearly not happy with this.

“Yeah, and have Sam kick the dick out, and die? No dice. Sorry, but that’s just… that wasn’t happening, okay? Now I gotta hope he’s healed up enough to kick the a-hole out. And that we can find him.”

“Dean, he’s like… ten foot tall. How hard can it be to find him?” The Prophet narrowed his eyes skeptically.

“You’d be surprised, Kevin. You really would.”

***

The angel found himself coming slowly, painfully to consciousness somewhere strange. It was cold, and there was a breeze across the vessel’s face. He had never been banished before, so it was a strange sensation, sort of a dizzy, slow-spinning whirl. The vessel was slumped against a concrete wall, and when he stirred enough, he realised it was the underneath of a viaduct of some kind. The sound of the water trickling past in the river grew stronger, and he got awkwardly to his feet.

There was a familiar sound of wings, one he had not heard in the longest of times. When he turned sharply, it was to see another angel. It was an angel he did not recognise, but then he had been away for so long that there were few he still did.

“Well, I'm really looking forward to this,” the other angel drawled, hands in his pockets, looking… gleeful.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, please. I know who you really are. And it isn't Ezekiel.”

Of course he knew he was not Ezekiel. Any angel who knew Ezekiel would be able to tell the difference, even if they perhaps did not recognise him. It was why he had asked Dean to keep Balthazar away, and why he had kept Castiel’s number from Sam’s reach. Even if Castiel could no longer see true faces, if he and Ezekiel shared a history, then he would not have been able to keep up the ruse.

“Relax. I'm not here to out you, even if you do seem to be… a little off the beaten track? But I am curious: why Ezekiel?”

This was hard to admit, but this other angel had the power to disclose him, and also… he could still fly? That was interesting, in and of itself. If the stories about the ruin of Heaven were true, that meant he could be one angel only. Metatron. But as to why he’d picked the name he had? It was simple. “They say he is a good, and... honourable angel.”

“Ahh,” the other angel said, nodding in understanding. “Everything they say you are not. I see your point... Gadreel.”

Gadreel recoiled, hurt. “The stories about me – they are not true!”

“And yet you spent countless thousands of years locked in Heaven's darkest dungeon. And now you're hiding in this human, posing as Ezekiel.” Metatron sighed heavily, shaking his head as if he really did pity him. “Tragic. It broke His heart to lock you away, you know? You were God's most trusted. That's why He chose you to protect the garden. Your one task was to keep evil from entering... from befouling His cherished creation, mankind, and you failed Him!”

No. It was not like that. It had never been like that. “Not my doing.” But no one understood, or no one cared. No one ever sought to find the truth behind the ruin of Eden. He’d been a handy scapegoat. Even God had not listened, so why should any of his brothers and sisters?

“Well, for whatever reason, the serpent entered. The Earth is cursed with evil. Someone had to be blamed.” Metatron said it all so very matter-of-factly. Like it was simply nothing, the years of torture, of Hell in Heaven. As if his pain and anguish were just… requirements.

Gadreel should not have expected any more understanding from him, but still it hurt to be dismissed so easily. “What is it you want of me, Metatron?” He would have flown, if he could. Flown far away. Taken this vessel and lived somewhere in peace, where no one could torture him, or judge him… but with his wings so sadly clipped, he was at the Scribe’s mercy. At least, for now.

The other angel sighed at his short riposte. “Just to be your friend. You and I go back a long way. I was actually the one who freed you.”

That made Gadreel start in surprise. “...you?”

Metatron nodded. “I was the one who caused all the angels to fall. Including the imprisoned ones.” A pause. “You're welcome.”

So it was true, he was not the only one uncaged. He had suspected, but after the confusion of the fall, many had kept radio silence. Many like him.

“...no angels are in Heaven? None at all?”

The shorter vessel nodded. “No, and you know, at first? I thought I would love it. But it's a big place. My solitude is getting tedious.”

“And so?”

“And so ... Plan ‘B.’ Rebuild Heaven as the place God envisioned it, only with a handpicked few. No more anemic functionaries like Bartholomew. And no more stupid angels.” He paused, clearly considering his criteria. “Maybe some funny ones. You were His most trusted, Gadreel. You want to take back your reputation? You want to reclaim the Heaven that was? We could do this together.”

Gadreel was shocked, truly he was. He had been imprisoned since the Fall of the Garden, since the serpent first tempted Eve. He had been kept away from his kind, and treated with a harshness second only to Hell. Here… here he’d had a second chance. He’d been accepted as a saviour by Dean, albeit reluctantly. He’d done good. He’d helped, he’d healed, he’d fought evil. But he’d tried to protect himself, to keep himself safe from the demon in the basement, and now… now what?

What would Dean think of him? He had not meant to injure anyone. He was simply going to exterminate the wickedness that was the King of Hell, because Dean clearly wanted to and was reluctant to. He had not expected Castiel to intrude, and he’d not really worked out what would happen next.

He doubted Castiel would forgive him. He had seen inside of Sam’s memories, had heard the demon calling out for his brother in love, fear and pain. Dean might take him back, and if he spoke to Sam, perhaps they would even iron out their differences, if it were not for the fact Castiel… well.

“I…”

“You’re thinking of just hiding down here, aren’t you?”

Reluctantly, Gadreel nodded. “They do not know of my past. They could… give me a second chance.”

“Oh, Gadreel, baby, please. The truth will always out, you know? And then where will you be? Plus, humans? Frankly, I never got used to them. I lived among them for centuries. I had to isolate myself to keep sane.”

The angel had to concede the point. “Humans do seem chaotic, Metatron.” When he had last seen them, there had only been two. Two, who spent their days in the Garden, glorifying His name and rejoicing in His bounteous gifts to them. Now the world was filled with them, and it was… it was anarchy.

“Which makes them fascinating,” he agreed. “But... all that emotion. Geez. And the wasted energy. It's just... exhausting.”

They were indeed creatures of rapid and intense feeling, he’d found. This was the first time he had ever taken a vessel… or the second. The first had been a willing barman, who had been all too happy to say yes. It had been a good vessel, and he would happily have stayed within him, if it were not for the call.

...he had… he had _wanted_ to help. To prove… to prove he **could**.

“I know,” Gadreel agreed. “Sam Winchester... it is a mess in here. And the brother – I do not know where to start.”

He had bitten off more than he had bargained for, it seemed. He’d thought that one good deed and he would be able to prove himself. Heal the vessel bound for Lucifer, show he was kind, and caring… he’d thought he could redeem himself. He’d never bargained on having to fight his own kindred to protect them. And once he was inside, it had been such a mess of pain both physical and emotional, that Gadreel had found it daunting. Then the relationship with Dean… it was… unhealthy. Very. There was more than a human’s lifespan of damage to undo, there. Much more. He could possess Sam until the vessel was a hundred years old, and still there would be things he had barely touched on.

“I can free you from them. From all of them.” All the humans.

It was… an interesting prospect. Heaven again. Gadreel could barely remember how that felt, to be in paradise. Humans were… chaotic, but interesting. And infinitely more interesting and appealing than an eternity of punishment which he did not believe he deserved. “You intend to be the ruler of this new Heaven, am I correct?”

“Uh... it is a burden I feel I must accept,” Metatron said, trying to sound humble, but the lie was right there in the tone, in the words, in the stance. Gadreel could see right through it all.

He was not going to let him hide from this. “Then Metatron, does that not make you God?”

“Oh-ho-ho,” the shorter angel chuckled, and it was as fake as his smile. “Semantics. I don't know that I'd take on **that** name...necessarily. No. When the time comes, we'll call me… ‘X’...” he suggested.

"...‘X’...?”

“You and I... we could have paradise again, Gadreel.”

Gadreel had lost God so very long ago. He’d lost him when he’d let the serpent in. It had not been a conscious decision, he had not _wanted_ sin, death, darkness and evil… it would have been better if he had, because then he would have considered the punishment mete. Metatron seemed no better, but he was offering something Gadreel had long since thought lost forever. Heaven. Home. Was… was it worth it? Was it even possible?

“I’ll let you think about it,” Metatron offered. “But don’t keep me waiting too long. Your usefulness to me will not last forever. But if you keep your head down, and keep pally with the dysfunctional brothers...”

“I… understand.”

“Pray for me. I’ll find you.”

And Gadreel was left alone in Sam Winchester, not sure what he did next.


	106. Chapter 106

Much, much later, Cas finally fell asleep. Crowley could tell that he was valiantly trying to fake how awake he felt, by the stifled half-yawns and the intent not-blinks. He didn’t blame him, of course. After what felt like millennia apart, he’d wanted to capitalise on every last minute, too. But eventually his poor darling just could not stay awake any longer, and with a fierce little snort that was _far_ too militant, but somehow still cute, Cas passed out in the crook of his arm, one leg slung over his, burrowed in tight like any part of them that wasn’t touching was somehow not safe.

All of him was safe, though. All of him. Crowley had made the mistake of letting Cas out of his sight once too often, and now look what had happened. He should have seen it coming. He should have realised that the other angels - the Naomis and the Metatrons of this world - were up to no good. There was only one decent angel God had ever made, and that angel was currently sawing up logs with his nose, minute traces of maple syrup hardening in the edges of his lips, and sex-rough hair currently all going to one side. God, he loved him. Even if he was a dead weight, and giving him pins and needles in his wrist, it was worth it.

Once he was sure that Cas wasn’t going to stir, he lifted his arm carefully to peer at the Mark. It was nothing really obvious, at least not in the normal visible spectrum. But to Crowley’s eyes? It made him shiver a little inside, in a way he didn’t want Cas to realise. It was… dark, this. It was the second biggest sin, following only from Eve and Adam’s decision to eat of the tree. Murder. Fratricide. And whilst Crowley could see that yes, Cas was one of the more adept at killing his siblings, this… this felt wrong. It was a foul mark on his beautiful ang-- his Castiel. And Abaddon was **no** sister of Cas. If anything, she was more his kin than Cas’. 

It was good to know that Cecily was still around, and still working for him, even with him absent for so long. He leaned over to Cas’ phone and dashed her off a quick text, letting her know he was okay, that he hoped she was, and he’d be in touch soon. Cas didn’t even stir throughout it, he was obviously shagged senseless, and once the fear that Crowley would leave had died down, he’d felt relaxed enough to pass out and sleep like the dead.

Cecily texted right back, which was mostly a string of exclamation marks and emoticons. He grinned, then put the phone back down again.

He’d… he’d never thought this would happen. He’d thought for sure the Winchesters would pump him for everything they could, and then either knife him or dispatch of him some other way. He’d been resigned to that, to being a well to be pumped dry. And he’d… he’d hurt about it, too. He thought it was probably the lingering effects of Moose and Prophet juice, but it was difficult to know for certain. Crowley had hoped Cas would come storming in, but with each passing day that he hadn’t, he’d lost faith that Cas even thought he was still alive. And why would he consider his ‘friends’ might be concealing him, keeping him prisoner in that twisted dungeon of theirs? Why indeed? Weren’t they all chums? Compadres? Amigos?

Nope. You were a Winchester, or you were a tool. A tool to be used and discarded, much like Cas. At least the Moose had finally had the decency to see the error of his ways, before the… yes. Well. Before the unfortunate lodger took over. He still wasn’t sure what to make of that, but doubtless before long Cas’ phone would ring and Dean would plead ‘I need you’ and ‘it’s not for me, it’s for Sammy’ and ‘help me Obi-wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope’. That malarkey. And Cas? What would he do? Would he drop everything to help them, or was this the final straw in severing the co-dependent, unhealthy, abusive relationship? No, it would be too much to ask for. And… really… Crowley might even agree. Saving the Moose would be the… r.. rrii… _right_ thing to do. But after that?

After that, and after Abaddon, and after they got Cas’ Grace back, and fixed both Heaven and Hell? (Which, alright, was a lot of afters?) Maybe then, at last, they’d be free. Free to just… be. Together. Forever. Like they were supposed to be. Like the world kept stopping them from being. Like they _deserved_.

...if only Crowley could keep his head in the game, that was. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him, but he just kept… he just kept remembering how the _burn_ had felt, in his veins. Like pain, but like pleasure, too. Like the worst kind of drug. It had made all the feelings sharper, brighter… drug was the word for it. An artificial high, except it was as low as it was high. He’d craved it all the time they’d kept him chained like a dog, and now he was free, his fingers itched to get hold of some. To… what? Turn over a blood bank? It wasn’t as if he really wanted to go around biting necks like some common Vampire, but he just… he n-nee-needed and… his hands were shaking, just a bit. A cold sheen of sweat across his brow. 

It was nothing. Really. Nothing. He could get over it. He could get over anything. Crowley bit his own tongue hard enough to draw his own blood, and he pushed it into the palate of his mouth, trying to staunch the flow. Damnit. Damn Winchesters and their stupid, dickheaded plots. Damn Dean and his selfish, asshole ways. Damn Moose and his understanding, stupid, doe eyes. Damn… shaking hands that made his whole body tremble, no matter how hard he tried to stop it. No! No. He was supposed to be letting Cas sleep, but his beautiful boy was already blinking up at him, bleary-eyed.

Cas’ eyes fluttered open slowly… was Crowley… shaking? He shook when he was cold, but… demons didn’t get cold. “What’s wrong?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

“Oh… just… you know. Buzzing with excitement that I’ve got my favouritest being in the universe back,” Crowley lied smoothly, waving it off with a hand that - shit - he then had to sit on.

“No… something’s wrong. You can tell me anything, you know that right?”

“...” The easy lie or excuse was right there, ready to be launched out with a grin. Crowley did not… admit weakness. Not easily, anyway. But… this was Cas. It was wrong to lie to him. “It’s… ah. A little delicate, angel. I… don’t want to worry you, when you have plenty of other things to concern yourself. with. Just a minor inconvenience, and one that will soon pass, I am sure.” He planted a kiss on his forehead, to try and convince him.

“Crowley,” he protested, sitting up slowly once he realised he was quite sore all over. “That only makes me worry more. Of course I’m going to worry about you… I always worry about you. No sense in hiding it from me, you know I’ll find out eventually…”

Fine. “Okay. I’ll tell you, but only if you… only if you…” What? Promise not to judge me? Or think less of me? Who wouldn’t? It was ridiculous, all told. “...I told you what that dumb Moose was up to, in that church, didn’t I?”

Cas narrowed his eyes at Crowley, head canting to the side slightly out of habit. “...yes…”

“Well, it’s possible - just… ever so slightly possible, nothing for certain, but… I might have the… sort of. Vaguest. Possible. Hint. Of… a problem.”

“A problem? Crowley… please. Speak plain. What is going on?” Cas was all but vibrating with worry ~~or was that the Mark~~. “Whatever it is, you know I’ll do anything you need me to… we’re stronger together, remember?” The once-angel reached a hand to cup Crowley’s face, thumb dragging lightly near his demon’s lips. “Whatever it is, it’s okay, and I love you no matter what… you know that right?”

A shaky little nod, shakier than he wanted, but he couldn’t meet Cas’ pretty blue eyes when he answered. “He stopped the ritual before… the end. But not without pumping me full of his blasted… full of his blood. And… ever since then…” Please don’t make me admit this aloud, he thought. Please work out what I do not under any circumstance want to have to admit. “...it will pass. I’m sure.”

“...you need more of his blood…” Cas’ voice was almost a whisper. “Just… his… or… any…?”

“...well. Kevin’s seemed to work fine, too. I… wanted to see if there was a difference, so I…” Yeah. Not his finest moment. “...it’s not something I am proud of.” A snort. “King of Hell, a junkie for--” Nope. He couldn’t even say it, the words just choked into a broken little laugh. “Might have been a mercy if they did just s--” No. He stopped that train of thought right there.

Cas grabbed Crowley’s face with both hands and kissed him fiercely. “No. Never say anything like that. Crowley, I love you. We’ll find a way to get through this… you can-- I mean I’m… I… will do anything for you. I will… give you anything you need.” Castiel’s too-blue eyes searched Crowley’s. “I just want you to be okay…”

That made the laugh from Crowley’s lips break, the slightest hint of hysteria in his tone. “I’ll be okay, I think. I mean. Woodstock was a long time ago… maybe we could do over a blood bank or something, or order a donor with the next lot of room service… I wonder what fangs do when they get hungry? Do you think there’s rent-a-blood?”

Cas squinted. “I don’t think…” A little bit more of a squint, realising it was a joke. He gave a tiny chuckle. “I suppose they feed on people… or animals…” There was a moment of silence before the once-angel spoke again. “Crowley, I’m human… I have human blood. Just take it from me if you need it. My body will make more…”

“I don’t want to hurt you, kitten,” he insisted, and pushed his hand through Cas’ hair, but a hand that was growing increasingly hard to keep from shaking. “You’re too precious to me. Much as the offer is… is…” So damned tempting, when he was feeling clammy and cold and _hungry_ , but not for food, for… something. His fingers tightened in Cas’ thick, dark hair. “I don’t… want to hurt you,” he repeated, through gritted teeth.

“Well - do like we did before, if it gets to be too much I’ll tell you to stop and you will. I know you will, Crowley. I know you.”

“It’s… it’s a temporary thing,” he insisted. “Just… until I get it out of my system. I’m not - by nature - an addictive demon. Well. Other than my addiction to a certain sex kitten, that is…” He offered a weak smile. “You _will_ tell me, if it’s too much, won’t… won’t you?”

“Yes. I promise you. I will tell you if I need you to stop.”

Crowley couldn’t even believe he was agreeing to this, even in principle. But it… it was just a stopgap. A temporary thing. To get him over it. God, he felt like such a loser. 

“...h-how…? I mean. They used… sharps. But whatever you…” Oh, damnit, he couldn’t even talk about it, without clamming up.

“Whatever you’d rather do… you could do like… we did before if you want to. I think the pain would be a good distraction, plus… I still kind of like the sting… I promise I’ll tell you if it’s too painful for me… unless you want to do it the other way. I don’t care, I just want to help you.” Cas moved his own mouth to Crowley’s throat, nipping at it.

Crowley had to fight back the little snort of amusement. Even now? Of course his angel was a randy little sod. “Sit on my lap, then. So you can hold onto the headboard, or my shoulders, and so I can keep you upright?”

Cas grinned as he climbed onto Crowley’s lap, fingers curling around Crowley’s shoulders. He leaned in for a quick kiss, whispering _I love you_ before taking a deep breath and letting it out with a smile. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.”

The demon slid his hand up and down Cas’ spine, trying to make sure he was relaxed and ready enough. He didn’t want to suddenly hurt him. Well. Not in unfun ways. “Alright. Remember… just say the word and I’ll stop…” His hand slid up over his back, up between his shoulders, to the nape of his neck. He pulled him in closer, his lips brushing over the rise of his adam’s apple, then under his jaw, trailing rough little kisses, first. He wanted to make sure he was ready, after all. His fingers slid up and into his hair, and he tugged Cas’ head sideways, baring his throat properly, holding him still. He didn’t want him to jump, because it would hurt more, now, than it had before. And he didn’t want to cause a real injury. 

His free hand stroked up and down his thigh, as he tilted his own head and pressed his teeth in. He bit down harder and harder, sucking a little purpling love-bite into his skin first, testing the waters. At the pleased, sharp hiss, he broke the skin just a little, but kept his tongue back to make sure he didn’t object… yet.

The pinch and the sting was just what Cas needed to keep his mind off the Mark. He slid a hand around the back of Crowley’s neck, pulling him against the once-angel’s throat. “Do it,” his voice was barely a whisper in between heavy breaths.

Crowley didn’t need telling again, and he ran his tongue over the shallow wound. A little, metal splash in his mouth, and then he held on harder. He sucked at the puncture, swallowing it down and down and down. But then there wasn’t enough there, so he bit harder, worrying his neck open.

Castiel _groaned_ as Crowley sucked and tongued at the bite, his fingers curling in Crowley’s short hair. **Fuck** but it felt so damn nice. “Crowley… so-- so good…”

Oh, it helped. It helped sooth the itch, to fill that gap. As his tongue flickered harder and harder, Crowley surged up, holding him down as he swallowed. His mouth filled with the thick liquid, and it coated the back of his throat, spreading like a tingling, bubbling warmth and _damn_ but it felt good. Crowley lifted from his throat, eyes almost black as he looked up at him. “God, you taste good, Cas. So good. I just… I just want to swallow you up whole.”

The once-angel was buzzing with endorphins, looking down at the demon as he spoke. Castiel grinned, smashing their lips together, _needing_ to kiss Crowley right at that moment. The tangy, metallic taste of his own blood now on his tongue, grinning against his King’s lips. “Do you need more?”

He ran his thumb over the cut, then grabbed another kiss. “I could take it, but I’m not sure you should give it. Not right now.” A nip to his mouth. “Unless you’re enjoying yourself too much. But I could probably find some other way to make you…” knuckles sliding over his cheek, “...feel good?”

“It feels so good… I just want to do whatever you…. whatever you want to.”

“I want… to make you…” a kiss, not letting his throat heal just yet. “... _scream_ my name…” His hand skirted around Cas’ taut, pretty little stomach. He let the back of his hand brush lower, his knuckles bumping against Cas’ crotch. “Would you like that?”

“Y-yes… please…”

Crowley held his hand up, kissed his palm (eyes never once leaving the ex-angel’s) and then reached between them. His fingers wrapped carefully around the raging boner his lover was happily sporting, and started to jack him slow, but firm. “Look into my eyes, Cas. I want to see the look on your face. I want to see the look in your eyes when you come.”

Castiel held the demon’s gaze, soft noises of pleasure escaping his throat as Crowley stroked him. “I love you… I love you so much.” He pressed their lips together briefly before resting his forehead against Crowley’s, still looking into the demon’s eyes.

His other hand curled around the back Cas’ neck, Crowley ran his tongue over the cut, healing it with a little push of magic. Then he could go back to staring. He could see it all. He could see the rush of blood in Cas’ cheeks, the way his lips plumped up, the way he swallowed down the excess saliva… oh, it was all perfect. Faster, he jerked him. Faster and harder, wanting to make him _loud_ , louder than the pounding of his heart, which was-- **no, Crowley** \--

Castiel’s breathing was heavy, eyes dark with need. “Crowley, please… I-- _do it again_ ,” he said, pulling the demon against his throat.

It was such a bad idea. Terrible. A really, really bad… Crowley moved in a rush, pushing Cas down onto his back, biting over his throat again, breaking harder this time, sucking until his cheeks hollowed, jerking him to keep the pain from getting too much, from distracting him from the pleasure. He swallowed until the rush of blood was fainter, until he was convinced it was going to cause issues. “Angel…” his voice was a growl. “Please, angel…”

Cas was light-headed, his head spinning. Between the rather quick loss of blood and the jacking, it was all he could do to moan Crowley’s name. Eyes closed and breaths heavy, he clutched at the demon’s back. He bit his lip, burying his head in the crook of his King’s neck. “Crowley, I’m gonna-- wait… I want you--” he grabbed Crowley’s hand, stopping him. “I really want you to fuck me.”

Crowley wasn’t sure where this sudden… change in Cas’ temperament had come from, but right now he wasn’t going to argue. Not when the ang-- not when Cas’ legs were spread around him, and when he was still loose from earlier that night. A nod, and he bent just one leg up, so he could push in under it. So he could use it for purchase, as he dragged Cas down and onto the dick (already hard, already waiting, already in his hand). It was a rough push in, but not too harsh, he thought? (Hoped?) “You know I-- you know I’ll always--” A little grunt, and a hand on his chest, keeping him pinned to the bed. “... _always_ do anything you ask…”

Castiel smiled up at Crowley, tongue flicking out over his lips. “Then don’t make me wait anymore, demon… _fuck me_.”

“Your wish is my command,” the demon smirked. If Cas was going to demand a reaming, he was going to get it. The bed slammed hard against the wall, thunking noisily as Crowley took Cas as hard and fast as he dared. He didn’t want the show over too soon, though, so he went from holding that leg up to wrapping a hand tight around Cas’ dick, just above his balls. Clutching tightly, to stop him getting… too involved… when he bent down to kiss him hard.

Cas was a mess of grunting and moaning when Crowley’s lips met his roughly. He pulled he demon as close as he could, nails digging into his King’s back and _scratching_ as he tried to keep him tight and flush. He captured Crowley’s bottom lip in between his teeth, scraping them along the soft flesh before shoving his tongue back in the demon’s mouth.

The sharp sting of nails over his skin just… yes. Oh, yes. Crowley ha’d only been half-lying when he’d taunted those Winchester brats in the dungeon. He _did_ like it rough, it was just that he didn’t tend to need to do it to _himself_. Between brutal, hungry ruts, he took it in turns slamming his hand up and down Cas’ length, then choking hold again, keeping him right on the edge without letting him fall over. Oh, he knew how to read a body, alright, and Cas was one he knew _intimately_. All of a sudden, he pulled out, pushing Cas up and off him, sliding backwards until his feet hit the floor. And then he smirked. “Roll over, angel. I want you on all fours.”

Castiel was in no state of mind to protest. Still feeling a bit woozy and over-stimulated, he blindly obeyed without question. He pushed his face into the mattress with a groan, turning his head to look back at Crowley curiously. He felt like he was in a fog, a dream. Even his voice seemed oddly lower when he breathed out the demon’s name, begging for more with his tone.

With ease, he held Cas still… just enough to push the very tip of his cock back inside… and then grab hold of Castiel’s ankles and _yank_ him back and off his balance, impaling him fully. Oh, yes. It was good inside. It was very, very good. He made sure those ankles locked behind him, and bent forwards. “Put your hands up and over your head. Wrap them around my neck. I’m going to show you something… a little trick I learned out East.”

“ **Fuck**!” Cas screamed as Crowley pulled him back out of nowhere. He did as instructed, as odd as it seemed because - again - he was in no state to protest. He just wanted _more_. “This is a strange position to be in…” he mumbled - more out of curiosity than anything else.

“Trust me, it’s not one you should try without a bit of magic to help you out… not with someone as bloody tall and muscular as you, kitten.” When Cas was properly in place, Crowley abruptly stood up, letting gravity work its wonders and leave Cas pressing all the way down onto his dick. Oh yes. One arm around his waist, holding him up, and the other around his chest, to make sure he didn’t topple. It was cheating to use his demon-strength, but… who gave a fuck? A few quick steps, and they were in front of the wardrobe. The one with the full-length mirror.

“Like what you see?” Crowley asked, with a rough little shunt of his hips. “Wanted you to see how bloody beautiful you look, when you’re sweaty, and horny, and begging for it… look at that pretty little cock, Cas. I bet you want me to stroke it, don’t you?”

Castiel’s eyes tried to avoid that stupid, angry Mark he could see in the reflection and instead focused on Crowley’s words, letting them wash over him and send chills down his spine. He shivered as he found himself - yet again - doing exactly what Crowley told him to and looking at his own cock in the mirror. “Yes,” he said softly. “Please, Crowley…”

“Please _what_?” the King demanded, needing to hear it in his own words. There was a power to it, to voicing your desires. And he liked the power. A bite - not hard enough to draw blood, not this time - to his neck, and he fucked him as hard as he could, bouncing him up and down on his cock as he pushed up and in.

Castiel was a wreck watching Crowley fuck him in the mirror. “Please-- s-stroke my dick,” he managed.

“How?” he asked, fingers curling around it, just a slow, maddeningly-cautious pressure, running up and down. “Like you’re fine bone china, or like you want me to bone your china into the next dynasty?” 

“What?” Cas’ mind was _far_ too cloudy for all this. “Just _fucking_ make me come, Crowley, please.”

The demon chuckled in amusement. “Whatever you say, kitten…” His hand started to move as fast and sharp as he could, his hips thrown forwards a little so he could better fuck up and into him. “Hands on the glass, and eyes either on mine, on yours, or on your dick. I want you to _watch_ how fucking **pretty** you are when you fall apart…”

The once-angel’s hands were on the glass the instant the order was given. His eyes fell to the reflection of his dick - he was, after all, a curious being. “ _Please_ …”

“ _Of course_ ,” he whispered, against bitten-pink skin, putting all his effort into jacking Cas off. He’d waited much too long himself, now, and he just wanted to feel him… wanted to feel him clench around him, to feel him come. “Make a mess, Cas. Make a god-awful mess. And then when you’re done, you can finish what you started, and swallow me down whole… can’t you?”

Watching from the new vantage point as Crowley's hand flew up and down Castiel's shaft, he couldn't control himself any longer as he came, bellowing the King's name loudly. His chest was heaving, his legs weak and shaky with no idea how he was going to be any good to his King like this. "Oh, _fuck_ , Crowley... I... fuck."

White splattered all over the mirror, and Crowley carried on stroking until Cas whined in protest, and then he lowered him carefully to the floor, pulling out with a soft little pop and a groan. He dragged his messy hand over Cas’ mouth, then pushed sticky fingers into his hair. “Down you go,” he said, softly. “On your knees and open your mouth. I won’t make you wait long.”

Cas' long tongue flicked out as he got situated on his knees, lapping up the trail Crowley left near his mouth. He looked up at his demon, a wicked smile on his face. He knew Crowley was enjoying this, making it that much more enjoyable for Castiel. 

"Yes, my King," he grinned, opening his mouth wide, tongue hanging out and ready.

“Good boy,” Crowley crooned appreciatively, pulling him closer, nudging against his lips. “Swallow me nice and deep, and let that throat of yours work. You still need to breathe, remember, so you stop before you black out… _that’s_ not sexy, sweetie.”

Cas moved forward, keeping his lips pressed tightly together as he pushed Crowley’s dick into his mouth until it hit the back of his throat. It was certainly a bit different than before - it made him want to cough and momentarily panic for air, but he calmed himself with a slow breath in. He kept his eyes locked on Crowley’s as he wriggled his tongue along the underside of his shaft.

He had done this before, of course, but there were so many new sensations, as a human… everything was so much… _more_. He let the demon’s dick pop out of his mouth, almost giggling (he might have if he hadn’t been so lightheaded). The once-angel decided right away that he loved the way Crowley tasted as he licked away the tiny droplets on the tip of his cock. Cas took his lover’s dick back into his mouth much more quickly this time, letting himself feel the panic of his air supply blocked for a little longer than before. He kind of like the way it felt… dangerous, yet safe: he knew he wasn’t in any real peril of choking, Crowley would never allow it.

Feeling much more comfortable - the dizzying feeling not really getting any better, but not really getting any worse - he moved his mouth and a hand up and down Crowley’s shaft faster now, eyes still locked, grinning as best he could.

Crowley was trying his best to hold back, to let Cas get used to it… but my god was he pretty, there on his knees, oh-so-trusting and loving, and doing everything he could to make him happy. He needn’t have done a thing, because Crowley was happy just having him _back_. He tangled his fingers in that lovely, messy mop of hair. “You ready?” he asked, waiting for a nod or some other yes.

As soon as Cas nodded, Crowley started to fuck his mouth and throat in earnest. He was still careful to listen for choking noises (beyond what could be endured, of course), but pretty rapidly he was just shoving deep into Cas’ throat, hard and fast but oh-so-loving. He held him down, all the way down… his balls tightening. “I’m-- Cas…” Another little twitch, a harder push. “...let go, and you-- **fuck**...” 

He meant to say, do what you want, or what you can, but instead he just let go, giving Cas the chance to retreat if he needed to, biting his own fist to keep the scream from shattering glass.

Another momentary panic attack: _Come, on, Cas. This may be the first time you’ve done this as a human, but it’s not the first time you’ve done this. You know what to do_...

Castiel calmed himself, swallowing around Crowley as he came, feeling slightly choked again, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He kept on until he was even more lightheaded than before and Crowley had stopped moving so recklessly, turning his head to the side and taking in a deep breath.

Oh, it felt good. It felt really good. Crowley yanked Cas up by the hand in his hair, smashing their lips together for another kiss. He licked the smeared traces of Cas’ come from around his mouth, pushing them into his lover’s mouth so they could mingle together on their tongues. And when he’d done, when he’d kissed him even more breathless, he scooped him up as if he weighed nothing whatsoever. “God, but I love you, Cas. Every time I think I love you enough, you go and break open more holes in me to slip inside.” Another kiss. Another. “Now I want to take you to bed and lick every trace of this from your skin, and push it into your mouth…”

“Mmm,” Cas replied, intelligently. He was feeling pretty exhausted, now, and he happily curled up around his King like the kitten he was so often called. If he’d had a tail, it would have been wrapped around a wrist right now. It was _almost_ a purr in his chest.

Dork, Crowley thought, as he carried him oh-so-gently to the bed, and laid him down like the precious little prince he was. Cas grabbed at a pillow, pulling it under his head. His other hand went grabby, clutching at air until Crowley relented and climbed in beside him.

“God, you’re an asshole,” Crowley said, without any heat whatsoever. “Why did God make you so fucking cute?”

Cas did reply, but it wasn’t in English. It wasn’t even in Enochian. A leg hooked around Crowley’s, pulling him closer, and a pout.

“Fine…” he said, with a heavy sigh, kissing behind an ear, over his jaw, down his throat. But Cas was already sound asleep.


	107. Chapter 107

Cecily was grinning like a lunatic, bouncing on her feet. Crowley was back! The King, once and future! Elvis not really left the building! Crowley was back, and he and his broken angel would get rid of Abaddon, and everything could go back to how it had been. Perfect. Even better was Scotty’s reply to her text (he’d not picked up when she rang). 

‘A little tied up, but that’s great news. Why don’t we meet at Deano’s & celebrate?’

So of course she made her way there. It wasn’t really a date, because since they’d been on the run they’d had to be super duper careful. But it was a celebration, still. Neither of them would last ten minutes in Hell right now, but with Crowley back in charge, the chaos would die down and it would go back to being a twisted paradise for them. 

The demon smoothed down her skirt just outside the entrance, fighting the butterflies in her stomach. It was all going to work out just swell! 

...well. It _would_ have. She paused as soon as she’d opened the door, not even stepping in all the way. There was a demon trap painted on the ceiling, but she hadn’t gotten that far. What held her still instead was the sight of Scotty. Her Scotty. Gagged, bound, chained and… whipped? He was tied to a chair, and all she had eyes for were his. He looked terrified, and his eyes begged her to either run or break him free, or… something. She looked around and was surprised that there wasn’t a small army here. No. Just Abaddon.

Cecily dialled Crowley’s number, and slipped the phone into her pocket on speaker. If she was going to die, she wanted him to know. She wanted it to… mean something. She couldn’t risk holding the phone up to hear him reply, she wanted the line open for as long as possible. She needn’t have worried, though. Many miles away, the answerphone kicked in, quietly recording the conversation.

“Oh, there you are,” Abaddon beamed, “...so nice of you to finally join us. The little runt here was bleating out so badly, I thought he needed some moral support.”

“You know, Scotty here is really rather… well placed? In Crowley’s favour?” Cecily tried, keeping her voice as level as she could. “After the whole Meg and Purgatory incident.”

“I heard about that. Your precious King couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag, could he?” The Knight was absently twirling what looked… oh. What looked like an angel blade, but one that had been beaten and warped out of shape. It was a ragged, two-pronged thing, now, and Cecily knew it was designed for more pain. Of course she did, she had seen the R&D paperwork herself. She’d personally favoured the bullets as weapons went, because she much rather did her dirty work from a distance.

Preferably a large distance. Say, a state or two away, behind a keyboard.

“Oh, he had his ways,” she said as airily as she could. “But I can see you _totes_ have the whole warrior-Queen thing down.”

That earned a snick of the knife behind Scotty’s jaw, and Cecily flinched visibly. Damn.

“I’m a _Knight_. But I suppose I could be the Queen.”

Cecily wrung her hands over her purse. “You know, he’s really very… loyal.” She nodded at Scotty. “To whoever’s in power. Same as me. We’re smart, you know?” She giggled, and it came out a bit strained.

Scotty was nodding, but when the knife pressed in again, he went stock-still. Damnit, what the hell did she say?

“So what you’re telling me is that your loyalty is… flexible?” she asked, trailing that blade down, down, down. Over his nervously-swallowing throat. His shirt was already in tatters.

“I’m saying we followed the best we had. And now we’ve got better.”

In went the twin tines of her angel blade fork, pushing into his skin, making blood pool around the cuts. “And how can I trust you won’t betray me, the minute my back is turned?”

“I can give you intel… on Crowley… and what he’s doing before he does it… you would totes be one step ahead of him.”

“Who says I need it?” she asked, scraping two vivid, sharp red lines down towards Scotius’ crotch. “All this talk of ‘numbers’ and ‘figures’ and ‘intel’... back in the _good_ old days? If we wanted something… we **got it**.” The two-pronged fork was slammed into the chair, between his legs… almost castrating him in the process. 

Scotty squeaked, bucking in the chair, frantic, but the hands on him held him still and she hissed at him to stop.

Cecily ran her fingers over and over her purse, cringing. “It makes it easier to get what you want… which is to be Queen, isn’t it? And - and what better way to take the throne from him than the easy way, if it’s available? I mean… would you rather do it the old-school difficult way? You could just, slip in and kick him right off that throne, yeah?”

“Sweetheart,” she crooned, the term of endearment bitter on her tongue. “I already _have_.” And she pulled the mangled weapon out of the chair, and plunged it straight between the male demon’s legs. Scotty screamed and screamed behind the gag, kicking almost hard enough to dislodge her grip on the chair. His head went back, and he tried to vacate the wounded body, but she snapped her hand back over his mouth and tutted. 

“See? When I want something…” a twist of the fork, another scream. “...I just **take it**.”

***

“Really, when you said you’d call me, I didn’t think you’d be so gauche as to _pray_ , Dean.”

The Hunter just huffed non-committally. “Worked, didn’t it? Anyway, how comes you can still flap around and every other angel is grounded?”

Balthazar tapped a finger to his nose. “You may have destroyed Heaven and ruined my ability to fly, but you didn’t touch my stunning good looks, charm, or impossibly quick wit.”

“Wasn’t us, it was Cas. So you’re saying…?”

“So I’m saying,” he said, with an exaggerated sigh, “I hitched a lift.”

“...April?”

“I don’t like using her as a taxi often, but when the need arises, yes.” The angel moved over to the table, perching on the edge. Hands clasped loosely in his lap. “So, what has the terrifying Dean Winchester in a flap this time? Has to be pretty bad for you to scream out you’ll ‘make me an offer I can’t refuse’...”

The human looked uncomfortable, but… well. With Cas not answering, and random angels apparently wanting to gut him for Cas’ location, or just go and steal his brother… 

“It’s Sam. And Ezekiel.”

“Come again?”

“When… when we did the demon trials, it messed Sam up pretty bad. Only way we could get him out of the hospital was for Zeke to jump up in his melon, okay? Not ideal. And then he said the damage was too great, blah, blah… and then he went and tried to kill Crowley, so Kevin banished him. Long story short: I want Zeke out, and I want my brother back.”

“Well there’s a rather huge hole in your story, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“...which is what?”

“Ezekiel. I have it on the best of authorities that he is no more.”

“... _what_?”

“Are you deaf? I said he’s dead. Are you sure it was an angel?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure! So who the Hell is in Sammy?”

“That’s the million dollar question indeed. I have been trying to keep track of all of them since they fell, but there was rather a _lot_ of them, and if you haven’t noticed, there’s a **tiny** bit of unrest. You know: Bartholomew. You _do_ keep up to date on happenings, don’t you? Ones beyond your nose?”

“Yeah, I heard. Buffalo wings all over and the whole ‘let the Holy Spirit’ in shit?”

“Oh, it can read! How marvellous. Yes, that.”

“And this is news because…?”

“Because I rather have my plate full. I don’t want to be swept up into yet another angelic battle royale. I tried to stay on the sidelines last time, and when I finally did put my head over the barricade, it was nearly--” he made a gesture of throat being slit… or worse, cringing as he did.

“Yeah, so, this isn’t war. I’m not asking you to go up against Bartholomew or whatever. Just the dick in my brother, and bring him back to me.”

“Well, considering said ‘dick’ could be any number of angels…”

“My soul.”

“Your… what?”

“It’s what you were trading in last time isn’t it? Well. You can have it. Ten year contract, collect on delivery, whatever. Just get me Sam back in one piece.”

“My dear boy, didn’t you see what happened _last_ time an angel did that? Are you forgetting the Godstiel incident?”

“That was Leviathan. This is just me. You can take it, I know.”

“Well, tempting an offer as it is, shouldn’t you ask your boyfriend?”

“...my what?”

“You know. The other man. The angel on your shoulder.”

“Cas?”

“Got it in three!”

“Look, I don’t know what rock you’re living under, but he is _not_ my--”

“Yes, yes, I know. It’s unrequited. Point being, you _have_ an angel on your side. And one who might well kick my posterior if I tried anything of the sort with you. I’m sorry, Dean. I’ll keep my ear to the ground, but I’m not promising anything else. I just want to be left with my piña colada in peace, and live out the rest of my supernaturally long life having fun.”

“Hey, but I--”

Dean never finished, because Balthazar (thanks to April) was already gone. He slammed his hand down on the table, pissed off.

He was… going to have to ask Cas for help at this rate. And he really, really didn’t want to.

***

“Come on, like you mean it,” Abaddon cooed, her fingers curled around Cecily’s elbow. 

Scotty was panting hard behind the gag, his eyes downcast. She’d stabbed him over, and over, and over, but never deep enough to kill. Now she had the weapon pressed into Cecily’s palm, the two tines pressing into his flesh, just above his heart. “Show me how you’d kill your old King for me. Show me how loyal you are.”

“I--”

Cold fingers pressed harder, finding the bundles of nerves, making her hand jerk and spasm nervously. She nearly dropped the weapon, but the other hand pressed her fingers back tight around it.

“You said you were loyal. You said I could believe in you. You said you’d work hard for me, Cecily. You’re not proving it, right now. So come on: you or him. Do you think if I let him loose, he’d hesitate to kill you? You think he wouldn’t snatch this right from your grip, and run you through?”

Scotty was crying. He was a mess. His meatsuit was barely held together, only the demon smoke inside keeping it going. He had to know he wasn’t getting out of this, not now. He had to know… and it would be a mercy to end him, rather than let Abaddon toy with him any longer. She was like an evil, vindictive tigress, playing with her caught mouse. Cecily was reminded suddenly of AJ, and she wondered if the cat would even know she’d gone. Other than Scotty, and AJ, the only other beings who would miss her were Bruna and Crowley. And Crowley hadn’t found her, despite the voicemail she’d left, and Bruna had no idea what was going on. To be fair, Bruna wouldn’t last five minutes with Abaddon. Cecily wasn’t sure how she had, either.

She knew she wouldn’t make it out of here alive if she didn’t play along, so she looked him in the eyes one last time: _Sorry, I’m so sorry_. Then she looked away and plunged it in, feeling the way his body resisted, the way he burbled out some rotten, blood-filled cry right as she killed him.

Cecily didn’t remember the last time she had killed anything. It hadn’t been her thing, really. It had never caught her interest like it did some others. She was a demon, but she was a demon of words, of spreadsheets, connections… not this. She pulled it out, ignoring the sickening way Scotty’s corpse held onto the metal, ripping it back with the strength she rarely let show. It clattered to the ground, and there was… so much blood. So much blood.

“Good girl,” Abaddon said, her finely-shaped fingernails cutting into her face, pulling it this way and that. Cecily refused to meet her eyes. “Now what you’re going to do is call that two-bit telephone salesman. You’re going to tell him what happened here. You’re going to tell him that his reign of paper and promises is over, and that it’s my time, now. And you’re going to tell him that I’ll gut that angel of his like you just gutted this…” she snapped the chains free, letting Scotty’s body fall limply to the ground, “...sad excuse for a demon. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Cecily nodded, numbly.

“Do it now. I want to listen. I want to make sure you say all of it correctly.” Abaddon pushed her into the chair, bending to push the twisted blade up against her throat.

Somehow, somehow she managed to call. It went through to the answering service again, and she blurted out all the things she’d been told to… and then she sat, cold and shivering, as Abaddon left her alone with the blood and the mess.

***

Crowley had sort of lost track of time. It all just blurred into one lovely mess of food, fondling, frotting and general fornication. He was fairly certain they’d been at it for a while, judging by the trolleys with discarded foods on, and the mess that was the bed linens, and the dried blood that spattered over the long, tempting column of Castiel’s throat. 

Cas was currently sleeping again, having passed out near the end of their last session, his arms pillowing on Crowley’s lap, his breathing shallow and thready. It didn’t sound all that good, to be honest. He sounded kind of drained, and when he ran his hand over his flank, he felt cool to the touch. Cool and… no, he wasn’t pale. That was just… the lighting, right?

They could stop whenever they wanted to. Crowley could stop whenever he wanted to. It was just a temporary thing. Just… to get him over the worst of it. And it wasn’t at all because he _had_ to, and it wasn’t at all because he enjoyed the way Cas’ voice caught when he begged Crowley to do it again, to do it harder, to do it longer… poor little mite probably was deep into his latest martyr complex over the whole Heaven fiasco. Probably got off on the pain, thinking he deserved it. His poor, precious little angel… he murmured something in his sleep, but it was too indistinct to decipher. 

The phone had gone several times while they’d been busy, but Crowley had been too caught up in his angel to look. Whatever it was, it could wait. Could wait, because he had Cas back. And even if it wasn’t just about making him scream and black out with bliss, it was… Cas. Damnit. Cas always came first, and he didn’t just mean between the sheets.

But Cas was asleep, and Crowley didn’t sleep. And he had to do something to keep his hands and mind occupied, even if it was ‘Flappy Bird’. He pulled the phone closer with a thought, and looked at the missed calls. Cecily, of course. And there was the little voicemail icon. He pushed to listen to it, cradling the handset between his shoulder and ear, but as it went on, between the crackles of pocket… oh no. Oh _no_. Abaddon. Abaddon had her, and Scotty. He listened with a sinking heart until the timer on the service cut it off, then hastily pressed buttons to see when it had been left.

Hours ago.

Shit.

“Cas,” he said, shaking him gently. “Cas… wake up… it’s Cecily.”

But Cas wouldn’t be roused, and he groaned, whacking at him, curling back up, even as Crowley listened to the second, more frantic voicemail. It might be a trap - it could well be a trap - but he wasn’t going to just let that bitch fucking hurt his staunchest supporter and friend, was he?

“Cas… damnit! I need to make sure she’s okay! Come on, kitten, I didn’t take you _that_ hard, surely?”

Cas still wouldn’t come to, so Crowley was forced to slide from under him, and worriedly pull the covers up over him, so he didn’t get cold. He’d be okay for a few minutes, at least. He was still breathing, still moving… just sleeping. 

Maybe he had gone too far. He stared around at the room in dismay, and the damnable blood in his system made his gut wrench in guilt. No. It was too strong. Too much.

He had to… he had to go find Cecily and Scotty, before it was too late. He planted one last kiss on his sleepy angel’s forehead, and vanished.


	108. Chapter 108

In his blind panic, Crowley hadn’t even thought to tidy up the mess that was his safe house hotel room. He’d just _gone_ , and now he was here with Cecily, he realised his mistake. He was halfway to snapping things clean when she lifted a teary face from his shoulder to see where he’d brought her. But that just made her cry harder, and cling to his chest.

Bugger.

Here he’d been, debauching his lover, gorging every appetite known to demon-kind, and his… his two most loyal subjects? Well. One had been brutally murdered, and the other had been traumatised beyond compare. For all Cecily was a demon, there were things that could hurt even the damned. 

“Darling… darling it’s okay. It’s okay, I swear. I’ll take care of you.”

Like that rang true. Like he’d taken care of her the minute he’d got free of the dungeon. No, he’d been… here. Not acting like a King, instead acting like a selfish lover. 

Crowley snapped away the worst of the mess, and she sort of… staggered. The nearest thing was the bed, so he parked her on the end of it, and was startled by the little yelp from under the covers. 

Cas… was a spreader. When he slept, he apparently expanded to take up the maximum open space in an area, and his hands were somewhere up under the pillows, his legs starfished out near the foot of the bed, and she’d sat on one.

“...sorry,” he mumbled, and tried to urge Cas’ feet to go back to ‘their’ side of the bed.

“I-- I-- shouldn’t--” sniff, “--be… here…”

“Nonsense, child, where else should you be?” he asked, brushing her hair back from her face. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she kept making snorty little noises through her nose. “You were there for me, now it’s my turn to be there for you.”

Cecily’s eyes wandered to the heap under the covers, obviously making the point that _he_ had got _his_ significant other back. 

Ah. Yes. He sat beside her, and put his arm over her again, letting her curl up against him. “He was… he was a good demon, Cecily. He was. But you… you have so much left to live for. Trust me on that.”

“B-but she… she made me…” her hands lifted, and they were shaking. She tried to fist them, but that just made it worse, and she squeaked.

“I know. I know. And it will always hurt, but… you will survive. It will hurt, but you will get better. It will.” He wanted to say: ‘I know you didn’t love him,’ but that felt a little tactless. 

Behind them, the low voices made Cas finally stir. He pulled his feet up and then rolled over, peering blurrily at them. His throat was a bloodied, bitten mess, and he was naked under the sheets. Only the fact he didn’t sit up fully saved his dignity.

“What-- what’s--?”

“Abaddon,” Crowley explained, begging him with his eyes to understand. 

Cas seemed to, because he sat up a bit further and put his hand on her lower back. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Only Cas would have the dignity and grace to sit up in bed like that and sound so solemn, finding his lover comforting someone he’d once been jealous of. Crowley’s heart broke all over again, and he laid his hand over Cas’.

“Would… you like some icecream?” Cas offered. “All the ones we have are melted, but we could get you some fresh. I know it helps cheer Crowley up when he has had a bad day. It might help you, too?”

She shook her head, then nodded, then shook it again, and choked on a little sad note that was meant to be an answer.

“Cec… why don’t you go freshen up in the bathroom, and I’ll clean this place up. We’ll get you a blanket, and some icecream, and I’ll make sure I get AJ. There’s a suite next door that I own, too, we can move you in here until it’s safe to go home. Does that… sound okay?”

“...y-yes,” she mumbled.

“Alright.” He kissed her hair, then helped her to her feet, guiding her over to the bathroom. It was, at least, clean in there.

“I didn’t… I didn’t know what else to do,” Crowley explained, as he started to tidy up the mess. 

Cas slipped out of bed and picked up a discarded robe, knotting it around himself tightly. “What… happened?”

“Abaddon. It sounds like… it sounds like she tortured Scotius - a demon Cecily was intimate with, who looked after Hell when we were in Purgatory - and made her watch when she…” 

“Oh.”

Crowley nodded.

“Listen, Cas--”

“No, no. It’s alright. I understand completely. If it had been--” he was about to say ‘Sam or Dean’, but then he remembered he was still angry with them.

Crowley shook his head, grabbing Cas’ face between his hands. “It’s not just that. It’s not just Cecily, or Abaddon. It’s… this…” he nodded at the slowly clearing wreck that was their suite. “We can’t… we can’t… keep on like this. Hiding. And… pretending.”

“Pretending… what?” Cas asked, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

The demon ran his fingers over the marks on Cas’ throat, ignoring the way it made his eyelids flutter, or his breathing quicken. “This. I can’t… keep doing this to you. It’s going to kill you.”

“You will keep me safe.”

“What if I don’t? What if I go too far? I needed to get you up before, so I could save… so I could get Cecily. But you wouldn’t move. And last night… it was great, but I ignored my responsibilities, and now Scotty is dead because of it.”

Cas’ eyes lowered, his hands falling from Crowley’s. 

“Darling, I love you. I love you so fucking much,” the King went on. “But… we have to be sensible, or we’ll lose one another all over again. We need to take down Abaddon, to fix Hell, to fix Heaven, and… we need to do it pronto.”

Reluctantly, Cas nodded. Of course he’d known. This had all been fun, but both of them had been hiding. Crowley from his kingdom and usurper, and Cas from… well. His humanity, his fragility, and the Mark that burned on his arm. Unconsciously, he pressed down over it, using the heel of his hand. 

“Kitten… _Cas_... we’ll get through this.” Crowley tilted his chin up. “We will. We’ll get me clean, and we’ll find out where the Blade is, and when we’ve killed Abaddon with it, you can spike that bastard Voice until he bleeds out your Grace. Alright? We’ll make it.”

“I hope so,” Cas said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But how do we… how do we ‘detox’ you?”

A grim smile. “I guess we find a way to restrain me… just long enough to get it out of my system.”

“A Trap?”

“...probably needs a bit more than just a trap, ducky.”

“I see.”

Cecily chose then to exit the bathroom, her eyes dried and the makeup smears removed, her purse clutched in front of her like a shield, or a comfort blanket. “...I want to help, too,” she said, her voice wavering. “I want that bitch dead.”

“And she will die. Horribly,” Crowley agreed. “Now… can you two play nice while I go get AJ?”

Both of them nodded.

“...I’ll be back before you know it.”

***

“Would it _kill you_ to **call first**?” Dean yelped at the two visitors. “Jesus, Cas, you nearly give me a heart attack every time.”

“I have found that you are often unable or unwilling to answer my calls,” Cas snapped back, pushing white little half-moons into his palms with his nails. “And this was not a conversation to hold long-distance.”

“I meant, call to say you were coming.”

“Look, if it makes you feel better, in future I will announce our imminent arrival by a shower of rose and orchid petals, Dean,” Crowley sniped, “but for now, we’re here, and we’ve got a proposition for you.”

“The Hell is that?” 

Crowley put a hand up, the back of his fingers against Cas’ chest, to keep him from surging forwards. “We want to borrow some of your hardware.”

“And I should share - why?”

“Because, Dean,” Cas growled, “...you _kidnapped_ Crowley. You assaulted him. You hid him from me. You kept him chained in your dungeon like some **dog** , and you let me think he was dead. After he tried to help you. You’re a faithless, back-stabbing, vicious--”

Crowley pushed a finger under Cas’ jaw, closing his mouth on the tirade.

“Yeah, well, your boyfriend happens to be a demon, responsible for--”

A snap of fingers, and Dean’s voice went, his mouth moving but nothing coming out. Angry green eyes snapped to the demon.

“Look, ladies… both of you are right. Dean, I am a demon. That’s true. But your black and white thinking isn’t helpful. And Cas is right: you did betray, trick and abuse me. And that makes you no better than me. Don’t get me wrong, I’d happily gut you alive for what you did to me, but the fact remains you have things we want, and you’re occasionally useful in a fight. I’m not saying you’re ever being invited to the wedding, but I might not shoot you, if you choose to listen to reason. So…”

Crowley looked to one, then the other. “Can we have a professional relationship, or do I need to crack out the ring of fire, the green jello, and watch you two slide around in a homoerotic fashion? Which, I have to say, I would enjoy on one level, but--”

Beside him, Cas nodded. Crowley kissed him on the cheek and let the fingers under his jaw go.

Dean glared for a moment, looking about ready to pitch a fit… albeit a silent one. Eventually, he nodded, too, and Crowley let go of the spell.

“What the Hell do you want?” Dean asked, his voice gruff. He couldn’t meet either of their eyes.

“Well, your Moose seemed to leave pretty sharpish when young Tran used that banishing spell. So I’m guessing by his conspicuous absence that you’re looking to get him back?” Crowley offered.

“Who was it?” Cas pushed in.

“Well, it wasn’t Ezekiel, apparently,” Dean replied, his voice bitter. “Balthazar said he’s dead. So whoever is squatting… I got no clue.”

“That… is bad. Why would an angel lie about their name?” Cas wondered.

“Probably ‘cause it’s one they’re not proud of,” Dean suggested.

“Yes… yes. I suspect you are correct.”

“So that’s what I want.” The Hunter narrowed his eyes at Crowley. “You saying you can get him back? Well… what do you want in return?”

“Your assistance in two things. One: locating the First Blade so that Cas can kill Abaddon.”

“And two?”

Cas put his hand on Crowley’s shoulder, supportively. “We need your restraints. Your… ‘cure’... left Crowley with some unfortunate side-effects. We require the use of your dungeon for a brief period.”

“...tell me this is not some creepy sex thing?” Dean huffed.

“You ignorant oaf, it’s--” but that was losing his temper, Crowley knew, so he took a deep breath. “It’s personal. And no. It’s not some ‘creepy sex thing’. We’re perfectly capable of doing that without your help. This is… something… different.”

“Alright… you bring me Sammy back, and find me some way to get the dickhead out, and you got a deal.”

“Just so you know, I am _not_ contracting with you, Dean. But I **will** require you to make a written statement to the effect, with the relevant penalty clauses if you choose to betray us,” Crowley insisted.

“Whatever. Just… Sam.”

“Signature first, then Sam.”

“ **Fine**. Give me the pen.”


	109. Chapter 109

They had been on the trail of Sam and his angelic squatter for a little while, because apparently Sam's innate Hunter skills were good for evading tracking. Finally, however, the angelic Moose stopped long enough for Cas and Crowley to catch up. Crowley appeared in front of him, out of nowhere, with a smirk.

“Hello, darling.”

“Demon,” Gadreel hissed, surprised to see him here. “What are you--”

He didn’t finish, because Cas was still pissed off that he’d tried to murder his King, and he drew back an angry fist, letting it smack right into Sam’s jaw. The impact rocked his head around, and the angel staggered. 

“Cast--”

Cas grabbed hold of the not-Sam by the ears, and yanked his head down as he brought his knee up and into his chin, knocking him clean out. And then he turned with a brusque little nod to Crowley. “Take us back to Dean.” In his irritation, he forgot how to be polite.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, grinning. "As you wish."

A snap and they were in the bunker, not-Sam in tote. "Ready when you are, Squirrel."

Dean was slightly startled at the sudden appearance, even though he had been in a constant state of readiness for this moment. He pulled out his lighter, flicking it to bring the flame to life before tossing it right into the circle of holy oil that had been prepped all along.

"Love a good fireworks show," the demon grinned. 

"Where'd you find him?" The Hunter asked, staring at not-really-his-brother lying, still unconscious, in the circle of flames.

“He was in Missouri,” Cas explained, rubbing at his knuckles. He’d hit him hard, and it had hurt. No wonder humans often avoided fighting, if injuries were this painful and potentially fatal, too. “Unfortunately, I cannot tell who he is, and he was not speaking on the ‘angel radio’, so we must either rely on his good will, or…?” he shrugged. “I suppose we would need to ask Balthazar.”

“Fanfuckingtastic. Let’s ask the one who isn’t interested in helping us to fucking help us.” Dean shook his head, reaching for the bottle of holy water on table. He uncapped it and tossed the water onto not-Sam’s face with a smirk and chuckle.

“...you do realise that only works on demons, don’t you, Dean?” Cas asked.

The water was enough to rouse the angel, who jumped and nearly burned Sam in the fire. Then he pushed to his feet, glowering. “Release me. Release me now.”

“Woke him up, didn’t it?” Dean said. The Hunter looked back at the angel. “Yeah, no dice. Who are you?”

“Release me, Dean. Do you regularly consort with demons?”

Cas’ knuckles cracked, ready to punch him again. “Leave Crowley out of this.”

Dean walked closer to the circle of fire. “You want out. We want a name. Pretty sure you can figure out how this is gonna go down.”

“Why should I give you my name? What benefit would that bestow upon me?”

Crowley stepped forward, waving Dean aside. “Listen up, you bloody pigeon. You can stay here and rot in this burning ring of fire or you can play nice. You see,” he said, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets, starting to pace in front of the not-Sam in the angel trap. “It seems that no one knows just who the Hell you are. I find this interesting… you’re clearly an angel. And generally speaking… angels know other angels. But none of the angels know you. So. You can tell us who you are and we will negotiate getting you out of this here circus trick, or we can make you talk with all kinds of fun little gadgets and toys. It’s your choice. The easy way, or the fun way. What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?”

The angel clearly thought that through, his jaw a tight line as he worked out his options, his angles. He couldn’t get out of this ring, and of the three people outside… he thought he had a better chance with one, than the other two.

“I will speak with you,” he said, addressing Dean.

“You will speak with him, but we will be here,” Cas insisted. “That is not negotiable.”

A pause, but Dean nodded in agreement with Cas.

“... _if you insist_ ,” he practically growled. “My name is not Ezekiel. I chose that name, because I have been falsely… misrepresented. For many years. My name… is Gadreel.”

“ _You_!” Cas yelled, all but charging headlong towards him. “You who let the serpent in! You who ruined everything!”

Crowley held out his arm, hand on Castiel’s chest to stop him from running into the fire. He glanced over at him, shaking his head slightly. He didn’t lower his hand as he spoke, turning back to face _Gadreel_. 

“So… you’re the infamous Gadreel. Lovely.” 

With a huff, Cas took a step back. “Even now you are deceiving, and--”

“It was necessary,” the angel insisted. “If I had explained who I was, Dean would never have trusted me, and Sam would already be dead. I truly only wished to help, and it was the only way I could see how I could.”

“By lying?”

“Would you not conceal your name, Castiel? You who broke Heaven? Even if, as you say, it was not your fault… can you not see how I would feel, when they say I broke the Garden?”

“I would not want to be someone who I was not. Not… consciously, anyway,” Cas objected. The Emmanuel incident had not been a decision, it had just happened. He glanced over to Crowley, apologetically.

Crowley gave a smile that said _don't worry about it, angel_ , before turning back to Gadreel.

"Listen up, _Gagreel_. This isn't about Cas, it's about you. I don't think you understand what a favour I'm doing you by **not** killing you for trying to kill me. You are being kept alive for the simple fact that your vessel happens to be important to the three of us. If it was up to me I'd have already had your bloody head on a pike."

“Dean would never allow--”

"Hey!" Dean barked. "Enough." The Hunter turned to Gadreel with a scowl. "You give me one good reason why I shouldn't gut you right the fuck now."

Gadreel’s eyes snapped to Dean’s, angry. His nostrils flared as he tried to keep down the response, his throat swallowing it back down again. “Because I did, in fact, save your brother’s life. Because I could at any point have left with him, but I did not. I did - in fact - wish to help you both. I simply was acting in self-preservation.”

“Well, Crowley already said he won’t kill you, Gadreel,” Cas growled. “So why don’t you leave Sam, now?”

“...I would need… a vessel, if I were to leave.” The angel shifted uncomfortably. “But you… should know that I have been approached. By Metatron.”

"Metatron? That douche bag?" Dean blurted out. 

"What the Hell did he want with you?" Crowley added.

Castiel was all but vibrating at the mention of his _nemesis_ , but he decided to contain himself to just a low growl.

“He said he has the power to allow the angels he wants to, back into Heaven. He… wants to be the new God. To control paradise. I believe he wanted to use my placement here, in Sam, to work as his agent. He was not aware that we had… had problems.”

Crowley grabbed Castiel's hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "And you _want_ to work for that whiny little prick?"

“I…” 

Cas could see, then. He could see straight through him, with a clarity he rarely experienced. And, surprisingly, he felt… pity, not anger, not disgust. “You just want to go back to Heaven, don’t you?”

Gadreel’s jaw was set, and his eyes were suddenly fixed on the wall behind them.

“You should know that Metatron is not to be trusted,” Cas went on, squeezing Crowley’s hand in return. “He told _me_ he was fixing Heaven, but in reality he wanted to control it. He will use you, Gadreel. He will use you, nothing more. If you truly want to go home… you should work with us, instead.”

That made the angel’s eyes snap over to Cas, then to the others. “...I do not understand _how_...”

Crowley beamed at Castiel. "Bloody brilliant, Cas. Bit of a double agent... pretend to work for Metatron and feed us the information you get. He'll be none the wiser and we can fix this mess once and for all, hmm?"

Dean nodded in agreement. "Double agent, yeah... you can still work on healing Sam, give us the goods on that dick, and the sooner we can wrap this up the better."

“...you wish me to lie to him?” Gadreel asked.

“Isn’t that what you have been doing to Dean, so far?” Cas pushed. “It is simply another lie. But this time for the right reasons. If you do, truly wish to help, then you should know that the Winchesters only ever try to do what is right. Me, too… although I have made some mistakes, along the way…”

“But what of Sam?” Gadreel asked. “Should I conceal the times I meet with Metatron? He has also been… ‘asleep’ for some time, now. Or should he remain as such until we have defeated Metatron?”

“Of course you should conceal the times you meet with that douche from Sam. And no, bring him back.” Dean was not happy about any of this. Not at all.

“...is that a wise idea, Dean?” Cas asked, turning to the Hunter. “Shouldn’t Sam know what risks he is being put under? It is, after all, his body which Gadreel inhabits. And I assume it was entirely unwitting.”

“That was… necessary, but unfortunate,” Gadreel agreed. “But what if he chooses to expel me?”

“Cas, are you _really_ suggesting we let this dick run around wearing my brother like a cheap prom dress?”

“I am saying that if Metatron wishes to use Gadreel because he can masquerade as Sam, then the pretence must be kept up. However, we should not make decisions about Sam’s life without consulting him.” His eyes flickered to Crowley, and then back to Dean. Very. Very. Pointedly.

“My darling is right, Dean,” Crowley seconded. “Have you really not learned your lesson about _consent_ yet? My. It comes to something when the King of Hell has to point out how not to violate someone…”

“You _son of a bitch_...” Dean growled.

Cas was about to launch at him, but Crowley picked up on it and but an arm up to stop him again, ready to hold them apart if he had to. 

“But after what he _did to you_!” Cas snapped, frustrated beyond measure.

“I know, kitten, I know. It was deplorable. It was worse than deplorable. But we’re here for mutual benefit, right now.” He pecked a little kiss to his forehead, and waited until Cas settled back down with a harumph.

Crowley turned to face Dean. “You need to stop making decisions about people’s lives for them, Dean. No one died and made you God. The Moose is a full grown adult, and if you keep playing God, you’re going to find one of these days what _happens_ to people who do that.” 

He could feel Cas wilting behind him, and he turned… and grabbed him for a hug. He didn’t give a shit that Dean might feel uncomfortable.

“...if I allow you to speak to Sam, and he chooses to evict me, what guarantee do I have of my safety?” Gadreel asked.

“You don’t.” Dean turned back towards Crowley. He raised his finger, opening his mouth to speak - but what was he really going to say? He had no ground to stand on, no argument. It was wrong and deep down, Dean knew it. But… Sammy… he needed him to be okay, he need Sam healthy and this had been a last resort. “ _Fucker_ ,” was all he could settle on before turning away, running a hand through his hair.

Cas didn’t know what he expected from Dean, truly. This was not the man he had rescued from Hell, who he had dragged from Perdition. He barely knew him, now. Instead, he just pressed in tight against Crowley.

“Well… let us talk to the Moose. I promise, if he says Beetlejuice three times then you can flap away from here a free bird. That sound fair?” Crowley offered.

Gadreel nodded, and then his head lowered and…

...Sam looked up. “...the **HELL**?”

Dean said nothing, only shook his head, glaring at Crowley.

As no one else seemed to be capable of holding a real conversation, Cas pushed away from Crowley just a little. “Sam. It is okay. There is an angel inside of you. Dean let him in to help heal you.”

Sam’s head snapped around to Dean. “--the **HELL** Dean?”

“Sam... just hear me out.”

“This better be pretty fucking good, Dean,” Sam sighed, a hand through his hair. “Just… tell me. Tell me everything.”

“After we stopped the last trial, you passed out… you were dying, Sam. The doctors, they - they couldn’t do anything… they were talking about next of kin information and organ donation and... I had to save you, Sammy. I did what I had to do.”

“...you let… you let an angel in me.” Sam’s tone was pretty dull. He just… couldn’t process it. “And… he’s still in me?” He gestured down at the holy fire. “Last thing I remember is… is trying to let Crowley go.”

“By the way, thanks for that,” Crowley piped up, “even if the blasted bird did try to murder me immediately afterwards.”

“What **choice** did I _have_ , Sam?” Dean wasn’t sure what exactly he expected Sam to think, but whatever it was, it wasn’t this. Why couldn’t Sam see he was trying to save his life?

“Uhm. You could have…” Sam glanced at the two others, not quite ready to say it.

“...you are alive now,” Cas said, feeling some of the discomfort. “And we have an unusual opportunity. Metatron has approached the angel inside of you. We could - if you agreed - run you as a ‘double agent’...”

“And, what? Spy on Metatron?” Sam was baffled. “And what’s to stop this angel just… ratting out on us altogether? I honestly don’t remember anything since that afternoon. He could… he could do it all over again.”

“Yeah, he could,” Dean agreed. “Look. No one’s… no one’s gonna force you, okay? You want that bird out, you just say. No one wants you to take any risks you don’t feel safe with, and this is a pretty damn big ask…”

“So now it’s my choice?” Sam nearly laughed. “When I might choose to keep safe.”

Dean shrugged. “You were outta it, when… when he came along.”

“And who is it, even? Who’s bouncing around up…” a finger to the temple.

“His name,” Castiel said, “is Gadreel. He originally concealed who he was, because he… he was imprisoned, before Heaven was disrupted.”

“...imprisoned? Seriously? You let some freaking… what? Lucifer sympathiser in? Dean, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” Dean snapped back, his voice gruff and eyes flashing, “...that you were about to die, and it was up to me to save you, and if it meant having a temporary lodger, then… then yeah. He ain’t Satan.”

“He might as well have been!”

“Well, he isn’t,” Crowley said, trying to calm the situation down. “And it’s true, the story goes he let the serpent in. But you know what? He’s been in jail for a very, very long time. And how long has he been up inside of Sam, and… the world hasn’t ended? As far as I can tell, Moose, you look healthy. Not completely healed, but a damn sight better than you were in the church. Gadreel said he wanted to help you, to redeem himself… maybe he’s legit.”

“And maybe he’s lying, to save himself,” Sam countered.

“Would it help you to speak with him?” Cas asked.

“...how would I do that?”

“I… am an angelic vessel. Of sorts. Without my Grace, I am just… the same as a human. I could allow Gadreel to use me temporarily, and you would be able to converse with him.”

“Cas, you don’t--”

But Cas shook his head at Crowley. “It is okay. I know you will protect me.” He stepped through the low-burning ring of holy oil, and then tilted his head up at Sam. “Gadreel, you have my permission.”

Sam’s eyes flickered to blue, and then he cocked his own head, questioningly. He looked over to Crowley. “I will not intrude,” he promised, and then Sam’s mouth opened wide as Grace poured out from one body to the other.

Sam staggered, and then frowned over at Cas. “...Cas?”

“He is here,” Gadreel replied. “He is conscious of the discussion. He wishes…” head back to Crowley. “He wishes you to know he is well.”

Crowley was clearly not comfortable with this sudden squatter in his boyfriend, but he nodded, sharply.

“Why in Hell did you hide from me, or lie to Dean?” Sam asked, turning on his friend… his possessed friend.

“My name is… unfortunately synonymous with my mistake. I did not mean to… I did not mean for sin, or for pain. I wanted freedom for humanity. I wanted them to have the choice for themselves. I have been punished for this, for a long time.”

“So… you want us to think you let Lucifer in for… what? Good reasons?”

“Is freedom so despicable?” Gadreel asked, blue on blue eyes narrowed. “Is knowledge truly a sin? You must understand, without the option to err, you cannot truly do good.”

“So why did God lock you up?”

“It was not God, it was the other angels.”

“But He had to have a hand in it?”

“Not… necessarily.” But that tone was more Castiel than Gadreel. “He believes what he is saying, Sam. I do not agree with his actions, but I can see his reasoning, now.”

Crowley’s lips quirked. Of course his angel would take the opportunity to pry as much as he could into Gadreel’s mind. “So he really does want to help?”

“I believe so,” Cas nodded. But then when his head lifted, he was Gadreel again. It was strange, subtle, but unmistakable. “I do. I do wish to help. I wish to return home, but… I also want to restore my name, to what it once was.”

“And if I say out at any point?” Sam asked.

“Then I will leave, and take another vessel. There will be brief times when I will need you to not witness things, because Metatron may sense you, but otherwise, I will inform you of everything which goes on.”

“And you really think we can take Metatron down?”

“You have the Prophet, still. And the tablet. And now, you have me.”

“...okay. Okay.”

Dean took a step forwards. “Okay.. you’re doing this?”

“I think I got to, Dean,” Sam admitted. “I think it’s important. Not just for Cas, but all the angels. I… want to help. So. You can come back in, now.”

The angel nodded Castiel’s head, then pushed back out from his mouth in a fierce, blue rush. Cas staggered a little, when he left, and Dean was putting out the fire the minute the transfer was done.

“I thank you for giving me a chance. Twice, Dean.”

“Yeah, don’t thank me,” he huffed. “It’s Sam you wanna thank.”

“Believe me... I know.”

***

Gadreel drove out to where he had last met Metatron, because it seemed a neutral enough place. When he arrived, he ran his hands over the steering wheel, calming his mind as much as he could.

He was nervous. Of course he was nervous. This was deceiving another angel, which was always going to be harder than deceiving a human. An angel could see things a human could not, and his only hope was to pass off his obvious worry as simply his discomfort working with Metatron, in being a ‘double’ agent for him, and a need to go back home. Yes. He could do this. Angels could lie to one another. It was possible, just more difficult.

He slid out of the car, and went to stand by the river side. Eyes closed, he uttered the name of the Scribe. Over, and over, and over. 

He named him, and he waited. And he waited. And he waited. He waited for longer than he thought was necessary, until he was sure that Metatron would not come. He was about to go back to the car and skulk back to the bunker when he heard the flap of wings.

“...I did not think you would answer.”

“Oh, you know, I’m a busy angel,” Metatron said, airily. “I can’t just come at the snap of your fingers. I have Heaven to think of.”

A Heaven, he thought, which was currently bereft of angels. What could Metatron possibly be doing up there, that would require Gadreel to wait? No. It was a psychological game, and no more. 

“I've been thinking this over, Metatron. I will join you as second in command,” he said, instead of the criticisms burning in his chest.

To his surprise, Metatron actually seemed to react to that. He seemed… he seemed happy. He seemed relieved. If he was at all suspicious, or nervous, or wary, it was not there in his tone. Either he was an incredible actor, or Gadreel had managed to deceive him. 

“Bravo, Gadreel! This move will erase the mark that has hounded you through the centuries. Heaven will be restored, as will your reputation as one of its greatest heroes!” 

Gadreel was still reeling from the effusive greeting. In fact, it was so positive, that for a moment he wondered if he was doing the right thing? Yes, Metatron had removed the other angels from Heaven, but those angels had kept him caged for millennia, had tortured him for nothing more than a mistake. Dean, Castiel, Crowley and even Sam had been reluctant to work with him. They had trapped him in holy fire. They had questioned his loyalty, his motives… but here was Metatron, prepared to give him a chance? To allow him redemption? He already _had_ Heaven, and… no. He would have to… ‘play this by ear’. 

“I thank you for this opportunity,” he said, instead. He could always play every angle, and work out which would succeed, which would give him the best chance of survival, of returning home at long last.

“There is just _one_ more thing…”

Ah. Of course. “Yes.”

“I need to be sure of your fidelity,” Metatron pointed out, his tone a little cagey.

The irony of this was not lost on Gadreel, who was still working out if he wanted to truly co-operate or not. Before long the Winchesters, the King of Hell and their broken angel would doubtless ask the same thing.

“You have it,” he said. And he would… if he was worthy.

“No, I mean **really** sure. We have enemies who pose an imminent threat to our effort. They must be neutralised.”

Ah. Yes. That would be rather a permanent solution. “Slain?”

“In a word.”

But it was not a word Metatron would use, and Gadreel wondered why. He wanted opponents dead, but he sidled around the issue, never came straight out and said it. Death. It was simple. A being once alive, then not. 

It was also something Gadreel did not enjoy. He was an angel, yes. And angels had been made to be God’s sword, to be His weapon, but Gadreel had spent a long time locked away in Heaven. He had grown… weary of blood. And not to mention, if Metatron wanted them dead, he was sure his new ‘friends’ would not.

“That... that is not who I am.”

But Metatron just sneered at him. “Yeah. Here’s the first name on your to-do list.” He held out a yellow card. “Decide.”

Gadreel looked down at the neat handwriting on the card.

The Prophet. Metatron wanted him to kill the Prophet.

He heard a flap of wings, and when he looked up again he was alone.

This… was going to be difficult.


	110. Chapter 110

“Are you sure you want to do it in here?” Cas asked, his nose wrinkling in distaste as he looked around the… well. Dungeon was the only word you could use for it. He’d only been in here briefly, once, when he’d found Gadreel trying to murder his King, and so it was not the most pleasant of memories. He assumed it was even worse for Crowley.

“Well, I can’t say it’s my favourite holiday destination,” the demon said, lingering in the doorway. “I won’t be writing a good review on Trip Advisor. But it _is_ secure, I have to give it that. And if I’m going to get through this, then I need to not have any way to…”

“Do you really think you would attempt to escape?”

Crowley wouldn’t meet Cas’ eyes. “Have you ever been addicted to something, Cas?”

“No. I mean. Not a substance.”

That made Crowley laugh. “Smooth, for you. Well. Imagine how you feel when we’ve been apart for too long, but imagine that not only does being together feel _good_ , but when we’re apart, your whole body falls apart. Hot, then cold, then hot. An itching that… runs through everything… a gnawing, empty feeling, and every thought is about how long it’s been since the last hit, since the last… Cas, if you’ve never been through it, it’s… difficult to explain.”

“I see. Well. I will be with you.”

“I’m not sure how wise that is, Cas.”

“I cannot leave you to suffer this alone.”

“I… look. I know and I appreciate it, but… you’re rather a walking source of sex appeal. And I mean more than sex appeal.”

“...was I wrong to allow you to--”

“No! No. I mean… maybe. It… it felt good, at the time, but I can’t… I can’t just keep doing that. You’ll get drained, and I’ll need more, and… I don’t… want to be that person.”

Cas wrapped his arms around his King’s neck, and kissed his temple slowly. “So… we will get you past this, and then we can focus on Abaddon, and my Grace.”

“I really do think God slipped up giving me you, you wonderful thing.”

“Save your flattery until you’re in chains,” Cas suggested, pushing him towards the trap. “You can tell me how wonderful I am, to keep your mind distracted.”

Another laugh, and the momentary levity was enough to get Crowley to step in. He suppressed a little shudder, and then went down into the chair as he was pushed.

“...is this place soundproofed?” Cas asked, sliding the iron around wrists and locking them into place. “Could they hear if I screamed…”

“For help?”

Cas’ eyes said no, but he nodded yes.

“Well, you heard me yelling for help, but the door was open. I could hear footsteps when they came close, but honestly? I am not sure how far the sound would travel from here. Any screaming might have to be… muffled.”

Cas was smirking as he held out the collar for him, and clicked it into place. “Maybe that will come later. I’m sure they go out, don’t they?” The collar and cuffs were then attached to chains, holding him to the chair once more.

“All of them, Prophet, Prophet-Primogenitor too?”

“I assume you mean Mrs Tran?”

“The one and only. I told them to skedaddle, but it looks like they’re Stockholmed as bad as anyone else is.”

“...we need Kevin’s help on the tablet.”

“True. But I can’t help but think even I could offer them more protection than Lumpy and Bumpy.”

Cas took the keys to the locks, and put them far out of reach. Then he brought over another chair, and sat facing him. 

“Should have found a way to bring a flatscreen in,” Crowley said, with a sigh. “Wise after the event.”

“Would you like me to get you one?”

“No… not right now. Much as I love to consume popular cultural media with you, sometimes it’s nice to just… talk.”

Cas nodded, and then he noticed Crowley was rubbing his shoe along the inside of his ankle. It was a pleasant, gentle touch. 

“Tell me about your exploits,” the King asked. “I’ve only heard snippets. I want to know what I missed. My own recap will be much shorter: Sam and Dean were assholes, Abaddon seized the switchboard, Mrs Tran brought me delightful sandwiches and I performed all of 'Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat' three times, 'Wicked' five times, and 'Oklahoma' once.”

“The first thing that happened was I was nearly run down by a truck,” Cas admitted. “And I broke my phone. The man was very nice and he gave me a lift into town, and some money to tide me over. This was very useful as I managed to launder my clothes and make phone calls and purchase the essential supplies.”

“You were… Cas. Jesus. You’re turned human and the first thing you do is nearly die?”

“I realise this is very ironic,” Cas agreed, “but I was somewhat disorientated by the fall, and by the sensory input, and the cries of my siblings as they also fell.”

“...fine. But that’s the only free pass you get. Any further tales of nearly dying, and you’ll be due a spanking.”

“You may wish to start keeping a record of these, then. In case your addled mind forgets.”

Crowley snorted. “Please. Go on.”

“Next one of my siblings approached me, and wished to ‘ride me’ all the way to the Grand Canyon. And I do not mean in a sexual sense, either.”

“...right. And that didn’t work out because…?”

“Because she did not listen when I said no.” He did not go on to say: so then I killed her, because it felt a little… disrespectful. “So that was a short-lived alliance.”

“You really do have wonderful inter-personal skills, Cas.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” Cas deadpanned in return. “After that, I then tried to summon you, because you weren’t answering your phone…”

Crowley shrugged. “Mea culpa.”

“And when you did not answer to _that_ , I went to a crossroads, but as I hoped, Cecily approached to offer a collaboration, without a deal being signed. She ensured I had sufficient supplies, and also helped me track down Cain.”

“That’s my girl. She’s a clever cookie. I’m just lucky she doesn’t seem to want to be the visible power in the Pit, or she’d give me one Hell of a run for my money.”

“Quite. So then I started to look for the First Blade, because it was the only thing mentioned about killing the Knights, other than the archangels. And as they are all either dead or locked up in the Cage--”

“Please, **please** do not go interrogating Luci in the Cage, or trying to spring him. He was a headache enough the first two times.”

“I have no intention of doing that.”

“Why do I feel, though, like you’re missing the good parts of the story?”

Cas frowned in confusion. “What… ‘good’ parts? We were apart from one another.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to launch into a huge long spiel about how you’d had a great time as a bachelor, and you’d not had to fight for the bed covers, or anything.”

“Then… what is this ‘good’ part?”

“Cas.” Crowley leaned forwards, and the chains clanked as he did. “Much as it pains me to see you de-Graced. What… what is it like?”

Oh. _Oh_. Cas’ eyes skittered to the door and back, to make sure no one was listening. “Honestly? It’s horrible, apart from food and sometimes sleeping.”

Crowley was trying so very hard not to laugh. “Oh?”

“Humans… are so messy! They are constantly leaking from various places, including their skin. They make horrible noises and smells. They require almost _constant_ input and output of nutrients and their by-products…”

“Yes, it is very tedious, I will agree.”

“And the temperature is never right. When I would try to sleep, I could never get comfortable. If I was under the covers then I was too hot, but if I was not, then I was too cold, and so I eventually worked out that I could cover half of me and that rectified the issue.”

“You always were a strategist.”

Castiel didn’t see that it was anything other than a compliment, though, because now he was in his stride. “They need cleaning every other minute. They are so fragile, their skin splits with the barest of provocations. And it hurts! It’s not even the pain at the time, it’s the fact they don’t heal and they sting for days afterwards.”

“Have to be careful not to get infections, love.”

“I am aware of that, I became adept at using antiseptic and disinfectants.”

“So what else ailed you?”

Cas shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then, his eyes sliding off to… oh look. Torture implements.

“You do remember I was human once, too, Cas. And I nearly was one again, thanks to the Scissor Sisters.”

“Is it… customary to wake up… aroused?”

Crowley did snort then. “You mean: morning wood?”

“I… I suppose that would be a fitting term, yes.”

“Yes, Cas, it’s pretty damn normal to wake up with a raging hard on. No matter if there’s someone around to help you with it, or not.”

“I did… not feel comfortable. Without you being there. I… missed you too much to pleasure myself manually.”

“You know, that’s the sweetest thing I ever heard? You couldn’t beat off because you were thinking of me too much.”

“You’re a bastard, Crowley.”

“I am,” he agreed, but with a wide grin. The talk was helping. For now. It was keeping his mind moving, keeping him from getting too settled, too morose. “So after you worked out sleeping, and eating, and drinking, and stiffies…”

A roll of his blue eyes. “After that, I met the Father of Murder. He keeps bees.”

Crowley snorted in shock. “Cain? The Cain? Keeps bees?”

“He is somewhat retired, now. In fact, in many ways, he reminded me of you. He also thought you and he were similar, in a way. He grew weary of the Knights when he met a human woman, and he fell in love.”

The demon hmphed, non-committally.

“But Abaddon intervened. I did offer to attempt to restore his wife to him, but he declined. I am, however, to kill him once Abaddon is dead. I don’t know where his soul will go, I doubt it is Heaven, but…”

“But you’re thinking about true love, aren’t you?”

“What happens when I die, Crowley? What happens if I… will I go to Purgatory? To Heaven? To… Hell?”

“You know, if I’m still alive and kicking, there’s no Reaper in the universe who would take your soul from me. And if you wind up in Purgatory, well. I’m going right back in after you. No matter what it takes, Cas, I’m following you. You’re stuck with me, now.”

The ex-angel smiled. “I would do it, you know.”

“...what?”

“Dig up the crossroads. Make the deal.”

“You… would sell your soul?”

“If it meant eternity with you… yes. I have been God. I have been to Purgatory. I cannot lie to myself that I am anything but a fool for you, Crowley. I am… a very bad angel.”

“No, no you’re not. You’re kind, and caring, and loving. You want to make a _difference_ , when half your lot just want to spring Lucifer because they don’t **know** any better. I’ve been listening to the reports of Bartholomew and his groupies. Believe me: that’s a bad angel.”

Cas smiled, but it was a sad sort of a smile. “Cecily has been keeping tabs for you?”

“Of course. She keeps an ear to the ground on every subject.”

“She is… very smart.” A slow, deep breath. “I am glad that she is loyal to you. That she… is your friend.”

“So… you’re not jealous any more? Because, I have to say… slightly jealous angry sex?”

Cas kicked out at his foot. “No, I am not jealous of her. I know you are mine, and not hers. And I know she is not going to steal you away from me. She was… helpful. She helped me more than my ‘friends’ did. I find it interesting, how often demons will do things that even your friends would not.”

“Maybe you have the wrong friends, then.”

“Maybe I have the right ones, and they are demons,” Cas countered.

Crowley nodded, accepting the point. 

“Well. Cain wanted to make sure I was… worthy of it. And he… I liked him, Crowley. He was sincere. He was… wise. And he seemed to care more about my safety than many other angels had. I think perhaps when you have lived in such painful circumstances, for so long, you become more aware of others’ pain? He gave me the Mark, and he told me the Blade is in the ocean, and that was-- oh!”

“Oh?”

“I forgot. April murdered me.”

“April… **_what_**?”

“Bartholomew had a contract out on me, and she murdered me on camera, but then Balthazar resurrected me immediately. It is partially how I managed to escape capture or worse.”

“...angel, in future, don’t lead with ‘murdered me’ like that? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Oh… no. I am sorry. I was annoyed at the time, but when I was alive again I was happy. I forgot it might worry you.”

“Worr-- let’s just… let’s just concentrate on keeping you alive, okay? Otherwise I’ll be keeping an angel on a leash just to heal you at any given moment.”

Cas laughed. “Which angel?”

“Whichever one accessorised with me on any given day.”

“You and Balthazar would kill one another within a week,” Cas pointed out. “You would both want to be the cleverest.”

“Well, we both know _I_ would win that.”

“True, but it would not stop him driving you insane in the process. You would need a calmer, quieter angel.”

“Cas, are you trying to set me up with one of your siblings?”

“Only as a slave.”

Crowley choked.

“Cas-- I--”

“It is fine. You can simply pray to Balthazar. April can fly him around. That way, you can save me without losing your mind in the process.”

“You’ve been thinking this through too hard,” Crowley insisted.

“Strategist,” Cas said, dismissively. “It is my job to work through all possibilities.”

“...fine.” A headshake. “Alright. Now tell me where we’re at with the Blade…”


	111. Chapter 111

Cas was getting tired. He was fighting it, but it wasn’t working. His eyes felt itchy and dry, and his head sort of pounded with every beat of his heart, and he felt like this thin sheen of filth and grease coated his skin. How long had he been awake, now? Long. Long, long. Many long. Hours. But Crowley was flagging, and Cas could tell.

He could tell, because Crowley’s hands twitched under the cuffs. Because his eyes looked slightly red, and because his attention span seemed to wander if the things Cas said were too long, or took too long. Mostly the latter, because thinking felt like it was coming from a long way away. He was trying to keep him occupied, to keep his mind going, but it was difficult to even stay upright.

“Got a tattoo,” he blurted out, from somewhere in his mind.

“...you… what?”

“Tattoo. Several. Anti-possession. Angelic warding. Lots.”

“That’s… two.”

“Two is lots,” Cas insisted. “It hurt.”

“Didn’t stop every kind of demonic entry, though,” Crowley mumbled, though it was half-hearted and distracted.

“Stops possession, not… not coitus.”

“You know you can call it fucking, right? Screwing. Shagging. Bonking. Bumping uglies. Making the beast with two backs.”

“I know I can call it all of those things,” Cas agreed, “but not all of them sound nice.”

“...buggery, sodomy, dropping the soap, a bit of how’s your father…”

“There are a lot of words for it, yes.”

“You’re the only person I ever met who said ‘coitus’ without it being followed by ‘interruptus’...” The demon shook his head, but when he closed his eyes this time, he did not re-open them.

Crowley did not sleep. Demons did not sleep. Humans slept. Cas was sleepy. “You’re the only person I’ve met I’ve ever wanted to do it with, in the first place.”

“I hardly think that’s accurate. You probably wanted to with others, just not enough to… actually do.”

“I had not considered intercourse before… not as something I might want to do. It always struck me as very… inelegant.” He ran a hand over his face, trying to rub feeling back into the tired muscles. “Sweaty, uncoordinated. Noisy. Messy.”

“You are such a romantic, Cas.”

“I mean it, Crowley. I’m an angel. I’m used to - I’m used to experiencing the world differently. Even when I took a vessel, I did not really find much that compelled me to enjoy it.”

“You ever wish you hadn’t?”

That took him aback, and Cas jerked upright in his chair. “What?”

“Well. You keep saying how gross it is. You ever wish you’d remained pure as the driven snow? Found some way to make me work with you without… consummation?”

“Why would you even… Crowley, no. It is ridiculous, but… enjoyable. But only because it is you.”

“Maybe it would have been… maybe if you…”

Crowley was shaking, and he was trying so hard not to. It was awful to watch, and Cas did the only thing he could think of. He walked over to his King, carefully lowered himself onto his lap, and wrapped his arms around his neck. “Don’t be foolish, demon,” he whispered, kissing at his jaw delicately soft. “If you decided you did not want to… again… I would be sad, but I would agree. But I do not regret it, any of it. Ever.”

There was the sound of fingernails scraping against the armrests of the chair. “You say the sweetest things. I mean it.”

“I know,” Cas said, lowering his head onto Crowley’s shoulder. “This is just the withdrawal talking. When you’re through it, you’ll be back to your old self.”

“My old, dashing self.”

“Quite,” Cas smiled.

“It’s okay. You can sleep, you know. You can go find a bed.”

“I’m not leaving you. Not ever again.”

“...alright. But if you snore, I’m going to kick you.”

Cas smiled, and wriggled closer still. “I’m not going to sleep. I’m just going to close my eyes and listen to you breathing.”

“Whatever helps you get through the night, angel.”

***

“What, exactly, am I looking for?” Kevin asked.

“First and foremost, whatever the Hell we can use as a weapon against that angel without hurting Sam. Just in case we need to,” Dean went on. “You know. Insurance policy.”

“So… stunning, expelling, binding…?”

“Yeah, any of that crap. Anything you think is useful. And second, anything that could get Cas’ wings back, and fix the whole Heaven crap.”

“If we fix Heaven… what next?” Linda asked. 

Dean hadn’t heard her enter, and he started when she interrupted. “Well. From experience, there’ll be someone else causing a mess before long.”

“But if Kevin’s translated the angel and the demon tablet, and he’s told you all he knows…”

“Mom!”

“Shh,” she tutted at her son. “Once it’s all translated, we’re going. For good. We can get new identities, go into witness protection, and Kevin can finish his studies and have a normal life.”

“Yeah, he can,” Dean agreed. “Or he can try to.”

“And what does that mean?”

Kevin realised that the Adults were Talking, and pushed away from the table, wandering over to the fridge.

“It means… it means it’ll be tough, okay? Once you’ve seen this life, it’s hard to go back. Even more so if Heaven and Hell want their dirty paws on you, and what’s inside your head.”

“I think Crowley would make sure Hell left him alone,” Linda said, folding her arms over her chest. “And surely if we fix Heaven, the angels will, too.”

“Now, see, you’re applying logic to angels. It don’t go down well. Cas? Cas is one of the good ones. Most of them were intent on ending everything, not long ago. I mean everything. You thought Satan was bad? Yeah, turns out the ‘good’ guys are pretty much just as rotten.”

“All the more reason to get away from this life,” Linda insisted. “Kevin is young. He has potential. I know Sam did, too. Do you really want Kevin to throw his future away as well?”

“You know,” the Prophet called out, his head somewhere in the salad crisper. “...I am right here.”

“I know you are,” Linda called back. “And I’m worried about you.”

“Yeah, but I _am_ old enough to make my own decisions.”

“Kid’s right,” Dean argued. “He should really work out what works best for him. And then do it.”

“Well, not being here right now would probably be more fun.” He hefted a little carton of orange juice and then slammed the fridge back shut. “But don’t worry. I’m sticking this thing out. Least until we sort Cas out, and then… then I’m gonna see how I feel. It’d be nice to… oh. Socialise with people my own age? And I don’t mean by playing World of Warcraft online.”

“Whatever you choose, I will support you,” his mother said, reassuringly. “I just want to make sure you know all your options. And those do include moving on.”

“Right. I know. I think I’m gonna… take a bit of a walk, first. All the lights in here…”

“You want some company?” Dean asked.

“Nah, it’s alright. I think… I think I need some space. But thanks, man.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

“Later…”

Dean wondered why Linda wasn’t leaving, but when Kevin was out of earshot, she turned to him. 

“Teach me how to keep him safe,” she insisted.

“...could take some time, you know?”

“I know. And I want you to teach him some self-defence, too. Just self-defence. No gung-ho hero crap.”

“Yes Ma’am….”

***

Cas was dreaming. He thought he was dreaming. It was a pleasant dream. In it, he was held in Crowley’s arms, the reassuring strength and presence grounding him. He felt good. He felt very good. He was too tired to wake, but he pushed his chin under his lover’s head, and mumbled his gratitude.

Hands were stroking over his thigh, and Cas sighed in contentment, eyes still closed. He could vaguely remember where he was, but for the minute, if he kept his eyes closed, he could just pretend it was somewhere more pleasant. He could pretend they were back home in Hell, and the clank of chains was deliberate, was a game Crowley had wanted to play. He could kiss up over Crowley’s cheek, and at his temple. 

Awareness trickling in bit by bit, Cas trailed one hand down between them, sliding between Crowley’s slightly-parted thighs, finding a stiffening, appreciative heat there. Deft fingers unhooked the leather belt, unbuttoned his pants, and then pushed under the elastic of his boxer-briefs to find the waiting erection. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Crowley purred, his lips pushing the words against his throat. 

Cas dragged his fingertips over the silky, soft skin, gratified when it resulted in a sharp intake of breath. He stroked every last inch, and then curled his hand around the shaft, tugging and twisting slowly. That made Crowley grab at his shirt, and Cas chuckled, opening his eyes and grinning at the King.

“Morning,” he replied, his voice gruff from lack of use. It was yet another lovely thing about being human. “Is this a bad idea?”

“ _Indubitably_ ,” his King sighed, stealing a kiss. “Don’t stop.”

“As long as you promise to keep the noise down.”

“Oh, I’ll be quiet as a church mouse. They won’t even know I’m here.”

Cas twisted harder, and his fingers found a thrumming vein. He scratched just over it, and Crowley hissed again, trying to buck up into his fingers, even pinned down as he was.

“Like that?” Cas asked.

“ _Fuck_ yes. Please, angel. Don’t be a cock tease.”

Shifting his weight so he could reach better, Cas put his other hand on the back of Crowley’s neck. On the collar that held him in place, in check. He pushed a finger between the iron and his throat, accidentally constricting his airway a little. “I’m not,” he insisted. “I’m going to - what is it they say? ‘Put out’?”

Crowley moaned lowly, and his lips started to stroke over his throat, whispering little yeses and loves and whatever else he thought of. Cas threw his head back, enjoying how intimate and vaguely dangerous it felt to have stubble scrape over the sensitive skin there. Crowley was clumsily trying to get into his pants, too, so he moved to make it as easy as possible for him. One hand grabbed at his balls, and Cas held Crowley against his neck harder. He was still too sleepy to even realise what he was doing, but all of a sudden there was a growl and a sharp, stinging pain. A pain that went straight to his balls and made him hump Crowley’s hand furiously…

...until he realised that the stinging, tingling feeling and the drag of wet tongue meant… oh _shit_.

Cas pulled back - or tried to - but Crowley was still jacking him off, his hands expertly chasing his pleasure. 

“Crowley - Crowley, no!”

The King made a confused noise, pulling back to peer at him. He’d stopped stroking… well. He was still sort of fondling, and when Cas stared at his mouth, he saw the smeared marks around his lips.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” His eyes were shot almost black, and the pale colour had gone, colour high in his cheeks. He looked better. He looked… healthy again, not pale and wan. But it was just a temporary thing. All that waiting, and one heated moment had undone it all.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, jumping down from his lap, grabbing for his pants to keep them up. “I… I shouldn’t have let you.”

Which was when Crowley blinked. And blinked again. And lifted his hand up, wiping it delicately over his lips. “...ah.”

Cas lowered his head, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, my King. I’m so sorry. I… I’m going to find a way to make this right.” 

He refastened his pants, tucking his shirt back in, as he ran.

He shouldn’t have left him, not like that. But he just knew if he stayed, he’d be weak. He’d let Crowley lap at his throat, let him take what they both enjoyed… and they’d be right back where they started. So he stumbled out of the room, before he could change his mind.

***

“Dude… the Hell?” Dean asked, as Cas rushed past him and into the library.

“I need something to help,” Cas said, ignoring him and pulling book after book from the shelves. “I need to find a way to fix this.”

“Cas, is that… is that blood on your collar?”

“It is a superficial wound, at best, Dean. Do not worry, I am not about to faint.”

“Dude, did Crowley **bite you**?”

The ex-angel spun on his heel, eyes flashing angrily. “Yes. He bit me. Ever since you attempted to cure him, he has had… he has had an addiction to human blood.”

“Yeah… Sam thought he might.”

“I am therefore in your debt for informing me of this,” Cas said, slamming the books down on the table and pulling up a chair.

“You kinda hightailed it out pretty sharpish, Cas. And what’d you want me to say? ‘By the way, your boyfriend likes to shoot up’?”

“You are aware I have a cellphone, Dean. You were capable of sending me a message.”

“So… what you gonna do now?”

“I am _trying_ to wean him off his habit. I would **appreciate** if you either gave me assistance, or else left me in peace.”

“...fine. You read your books. You need anything…”

Cas ran his hand over his neck. “Alcohol.”

Dean shuddered. “I can do that.”

***

Crowley had managed to right himself in Cas’ absence, to rebuckle his belt and pants, and to lick the traces of blood from his mouth. He’d panicked, when Cas had run. He hadn’t meant it. He hadn’t meant to hurt him, it had just sort of… happened. And then Cas had run off, quite rightly, too. He’d left before it got any worse, and left Crowley alone.

Alone, again, in the dark. Trying very hard not to panic. Trying not to remember previous times in the dark. Alone. Cas was just… Cas was just giving him space, that was all. An absence of temptation. He was removing himself from the equation temporarily while Crowley got over this.

It still hurt. It still hurt really badly.

God, how could he have been so stupid? It was just a mistake. He hadn’t even realised he was doing it, until Cas had looked at him like some terrible fuck up. Great. Just… great.

When he heard the footsteps, he craned his head, trying to work out who it was. Cas? “...angel?” he called, softly. Quiet enough that Cas could hear him and retreat, if he wanted to. No harm, no foul.

But the steps kept coming, and there was his angel, holding some musty old book.

“I wanted to find something to help you,” Cas said, gesturing with the tome. “We’re both… we’re both… too interested in things we shouldn’t be. And I didn’t want to make things any worse for you.”

“I’m sorry, Cas. I really am.”

“No… don’t be. It’s alright, I promise. I just… if I stayed, I wouldn’t have been able to keep… to keep you off me. And… the less blood in you, the easier fixing you will be.” Cas smiled crookedly. “I can’t say no to you. Not ever.”

Oh, his angel. His wonderful angel. Even now, thinking of him. “So you found something, then?” He nodded at the book. “Some magical ginko biloba, or a human blood detox? You going to cleanse my system with some chakra alignment?”

“...no.”

“Oh, right then.”

Cas opened up the book and pointed to a scrawled passage in Latin. “It says here that this spell is used as a restorative, a curative. You enter into a healing trance, and when you are cleansed you awake.”

“I see. Sort of a magical rehab? Better hope it isn’t one that uses anal douching.”

“...is that a ‘yes’, then?”

“Right now?” Crowley lifted his bound hands. “I’d try pretty much anything, just to get out of this damned hole.”

Cas smiled. “Alright. I’ll get the ingredients, and then we can see if it works.”


	112. Chapter 112

“You think… they should be done by now?” Dean asked, head tilted to the room down the corridor, where Crowley was handcuffed to the bed, with Cas beside him.

“I dunno, what did the book say?”

“Just… just that you stayed in for as long as it took.”

“Well, it… it took quite a while for me to come down from demon blood,” Sam pointed out. “Maybe it’s the same.”

“Yeah, but you were awake for that. Cas is… Cas is comatose. I know Crowley will last - probably for-fucking-ever… but Cas? He’s just… he’s just human, now. Don’t he need to do all the human shit? Like… drink?”

“It’s a spell, Dean. Maybe it takes care of stuff, I don’t know. And can’t we just get Gadreel to heal him?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“What’s got you… what’s got you worrying, Dean?”

“I dunno. I just don’t like hooky voodoo if we don’t know what’s going on, or why.”

“You said Cas found the spell inside one of the Men of Letters’ books?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well… that implies it’s well known, it’s understood. Do… do you want me to read over it, in case we can do something to help?”

“Maybe. I dunno. I just… I feel so helpless.”

Sam paused. “Is this… because of Cas, or because of Crowley?”

Dean’s laugh went up about half an octave. “What? Dude. Cas. It’s Cas, man.”

“You know… it was pretty dicky, what we did. I mean. I know we were trying to _cure_ him, but keeping him locked up?”

“Oh, and letting him go woulda helped? He’d have tried to kill us both, the minute we let him go. And then… and then there was Gadreel, and I thought we needed to keep him under lock and key, so he didn’t go and out your squatter.”

“Why?”

“It… look. It made sense at the time. I was… I was desperate, Sammy. Yeah, I made some decisions that look shitty in the cold light of day, but at the time? At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Sam nodded, very, very slowly. “Right.”

“Dude. I did.”

“Come on, Dean. I guess the only reason I didn’t try to spring him sooner was the angel in my head, keeping me from getting too close. He had every damn right to rip us to pieces… and what does he do? He goes off with Cas, and then he comes back to help… in return for our help.”

“Yeah, but if he killed us, Cas would--”

“Would he? You think he didn’t go after us because Cas would be upset? Dean. You - **we** \- kidnapped and tortured his boyfriend. And then we kept him like some… dog… locked in the basement. And for what? I mean, really? We worked with Meg, we’ve even worked with him before the whole Dick thing. You know as well as I do that angels are regularly pains in the ass, so why can’t a demon be decent?”

“Decent?!”

“I know he’s done bad shit, Dean, I’m not denying it. But Cas… Cas has changed him.”

“So, what, you’re Team Crowley now?”

“Compared to Abaddon? Yeah, Dean, I am.”

“Shouldn’t we be - you know - trying to get _rid_ of demons? Not playing favourites?”

“I tried that. You stopped me. If we’re not sealing Hell, then we’re stuck with them. And if we’re stuck with them, I’d rather be stuck with one who might be reasonable, and who **doesn’t** actively want the end of the world, Dean. Yes. We were wrong, okay? We were wrong. And I can admit that, and maybe it’s time you did, too.”

“Sammy… the **Hell**? Is this some freaking intervention?”

“I guess maybe it is, Dean.”

Dean was fighting the urge to get up, to walk off, to drive off, to… something. Anything. Cas was in trouble, and it was all Crowley’s fault again. Right? Right. “Well, I’m not saying sorry.”

“When do you ever?” Sam teased. “Look. I’m not saying he’s a saint, I’m not saying he’s never done a horrible thing in his life… but who hasn’t? You know who was nearly a demon, Dean?”

“Don’t you even--”

“You. Dean, you. You sold your soul - to a _demon_ \- for me. You didn’t need to. You just chose to. You went to Hell, and you were tortured, and I know you don’t like talking about it, but if Cas hadn’t hauled your ass out? You’d have been the next Alastair. Hey, I’m no better. I had the Devil in me, I went to the Cage, and I came back without a soul.”

“You can’t justify what he did, by--”

“Why not?” A shrug. “Think about it: do you know why he sold his soul? No. He told me _he_ doesn’t even remember, so how can you think he’s any worse than you are? He’s a demon, but he wasn’t always a demon. And maybe he can change, without a cure. Maybe all he needs is an angel to love him, and people to give him a chance.”

“So we’re supposed to open up our arms and say ‘no big’ about anything he’s done and all sit around eating Thanksgiving dinner together?”

“Maybe… Dean, just… think about it, okay? You really sure the reason you hate him so much isn’t because, maybe, you’re jealous?”

“Dude! The Hell are you on about?”

“Think about it. Before Crowley came along, you and Cas were pretty tight. I don’t even mean… like that. I mean, you know, the ‘profound bond’ and all that crap. Cas rescued you from Heaven, and he’s an angel, and… maybe you liked having an angel follow you around.”

“This is not about jealousy,” Dean spat back. “This is about him being an a-hole.”

“Alright… fine. If that’s how you feel, okay. I just… playing Devil’s Advocate, you know. Almost literally.”

“You know what? I’mma give them another day. And if they don’t get their asses out, I’m going in after ‘em.”

The younger brother’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Wow. Okay.”

“Cas needs help. And… fine. Maybe the dick isn’t as dickish as other dicks. So…” He wanted to say he’d give him a chance, he really did. But he kept wanting to, for Cas’ sake… and it just didn’t work. He felt bad about it, but he could not change how he felt. Couldn’t.

“And if you end up stuck in there, too?”

“I won’t,” Dean insisted. “Because I ain’t got any addictions, not any more.”

“I somehow doubt it’s just a matter of addictive substances, Dean… but if you insist…”

***

“You… sure about this?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I’m sure.”

“You don’t want me to look see if there’s some other spell to - I dunno - bring them round?”

“If there was a reset button, don’t you think it would be in the footnotes?”

Sam shrugged. “Alright. Well. Here goes nothing.”

Castiel and Crowley were already lying side-by-side on the bed, a red silk ribbon binding Crowley’s left wrist to Cas’ right. Neither of them moved, save for the shallow rise and fall of their breaths. It was uncanny, actually. Dean was sitting on the camp bed they’d dragged into the room, and he held out his right wrist so Sam could finish tying him to Cas.

“We don’t even know if sending you under second will keep the linked… whatever… going, you know,” Sam pointed out.

“Yeah, but it beats any other plan. Just… I owe him, okay?” Dean did. He’d left Cas to his own devices when he’d fallen from Heaven. It was time he showed he was a good friend, after all. Dean lay back on the bed, and pushed his other hand under the pillow, propping his head up. 

“Fine. So let’s do it.”

Sam spoke the words… and Dean felt everything sort of go _black_ and then _blue_ and then **sideways** , and with a lurch, he was… gone.

***

Dean was no longer on the bed, lying tied to Cas. Instead, he was somewhere else in the bunker. In the haziness of the dream, there was no intermediary stages, he was there one minute, the next he was outside the door to the dungeon. 

He could hear them, just on the other side of the door. He could hear the noise of teeth, he could taste the tang of blood on the air. He had been a Vampire, once. Not for long, but he still remembered it. He still remembered how it felt to know where the blood was, in the room. To hear it calling like the sweetest single malt. Maybe it was bleed over from Crowley, but there was a strange, hungry sort of emptiness in his belly. The thought of it didn’t disgust him like it should have done. Sure, he was surrounded by blood on a regular basis, but he’d never _craved_ it, except when he’d been a monster. Or a monster in potentia. 

Suddenly, he didn’t want to keep walking. He didn’t want to go in there, to be confronted with the evidence of the demon’s twisted addiction… or Cas’ addiction to Crowley. It was one thing knowing, academically, that they were… but being faced with it?

This was suddenly seeming like a much worse idea. Sam had been right. Why would he think he could fix things? What was it Cas had said, all those years ago?

_Dean, it’s not broken._

Yeah, it kinda was. It kinda was, when your so-called boyfriend apparently regularly physically abused you, bit you, _drained you_. Wasn’t it sort of… rapey? Cas had looked really fucking freaked out that last time, and Dean felt nauseous at the memory. Pale skin, haunted, sunken eyes. Crowley was sucking the very life out of him, and Dean had to hold onto the doorframe not to fall over, flat on his ass. 

“H-hey,” he called out, but his voice was barely more than a hoarse little squeak, and it didn’t sound like him at all. “C-Cas…”

He felt like _he_ was the one drained, like Crowley had tapped a vein and pulled all the life and vigour from him. He forced his legs to move, but it was like walking through quicksand. “Cas…” his voice came a bit stronger, but it still sounded reedy, like a little child, not a full-grown man. “Cas I’m coming in…”

He pushed the door, and he saw Crowley was sitting in the dumb chair, still. Chained and bound, but the chains were longer, and he’d captured Cas with them. He’d wrapped them around Cas, who was draped over him like a puppet with cut strings. He looked pale. So very pale. He didn’t even move when Dean entered, just whimpered the quietest of blurry noises, head tilted to one side to let Crowley drink him.

“Fuck off, Squirrel,” Crowley said, lifting his head up from Cas’ long neck just long enough to glower. His teeth glinted, and his lips were red, so red, that even when he licked them, they still looked glossy crimson, as if he’d painted them.

“Crowley, stop.”

“Why? We’re in love. Can’t you see?” 

“Dude, that’s not love. You’re killing him.”

Cas just moaned, and stirred slightly on Crowley’s lap.

“You’re just jealous,” Crowley insisted, flickering his tongue over Cas’ neck. Dean didn’t know how it managed to be as sexually charged as it was, but he supposed it served him right for walking in on the violent, sexual dream-fantasies of a demon. Cas moaned again, and Dean felt it like a punch to the solar plexus.

“No, man. I mean yes. But not like that.”

“You want the angel for yourself, don’t you? You wish he was crying out your name, not mine?” Crowley had those chains wrapped around Cas’ throat, suddenly, and he was pulling tighter, tighter, tighter.

“No! I don’t… I don’t want Cas like that! He’s my friend. I just wish he didn’t sell us down the river for someone who’s no good for him, like you.”

“No good for him?”

“Look at you, man! You’re killing him! You’re draining him like a freaking juice box! You’re a monster, Crowley… or you’re becoming one. Just stop it. Stop… all of this. C’mon.”

“Cas… Cas wants this,” Crowley argued. “Look at him. You want this, don’t you?” He was rubbing little eskimo nose kisses to the mostly-limp rag of a man. “Tell Dean.”

“I want… Crowley… happy…” Cas managed, his voice sounding as pale as he looked.

“See, Dean?”

“You won’t be happy if you kill him, asshole! That’s what you’re gonna do, you know! You’ll take, and take, and take… until there’s nothing left to take.”

“Oh, says you? Don’t think I don’t know what **you** do. Any time Cas isn’t powered, you don’t give a shit, Dean. You throw him to the curb, if he’s not your pet little angel gatling gun. You know he has feelings, right? He has things he wants, and things he needs. And one of those is for friends not to use him, abuse him, and throw him away. Where were you when he fell from Heaven?”

“I - right, fine. You got me. I’m a selfish asshole, too. But that’s why I’m here, you dipshit. I’m here to try and _help_ you both. And I’m telling you: this is gonna kill him, or leave him near as damnit. You really wanna live in a dream world forever, just endlessly drinking blood? Is that what you want? Or you want what he kept telling me you had? Something special? Something… real? With your damned shows and your bedtime stories or whatever it is… if it’s real, ain’t it worth fighting for, properly?”

Crowley actually paused at that, and the slightly manic light in his eyes seemed… fainter.

“Yeah, you heard me. I came the fuck in here to drag your sorry asses back out, so you can go off and have your happily ever after. Okay? I shouldn’t have locked you up, I shouldn’t have got you hooked on ABO juice, and I shouldn’t have kept you from Cas. But I can’t change what happened in the past, no matter how pissed you are with me. All I can do is try and… try and be Cas’ friend, even if he’s boning you. So get the fuck over yourself. You love him? You’re gonna stop hurting him. Understand?”

In Crowley’s lap, Cas stirred. He rolled just a little, peering over at him.

“...Dean?”

“Yeah, buddy. I came to bust you both out of mind-Hell. Heaven **and** Hell need you. You know what? I need you.” Dean swallowed. “Both of you, okay?”

“Dean, I never knew you cared…” Crowley said, sounding… pleasantly surprised.

“I don’t. Not about you, but Sam’s right, you’re… you’re better than the alternative. So. You two gonna wallow about in the Matrix a bit more, or you gonna come whup some Abadass and Metatwink?”

“How… how do we leave?” Cas asked, and suddenly the chains that had been wrapped around his throat were gone. He cautiously sat up, his hands all over Crowley for support.

“I think you just - uh - you wanna leave. I mean… properly get over shit, and then you go.”

“Just… go?” Cas frowned. “How do--?”

“It’s me,” Crowley said, his voice surprisingly soft. He lifted up his own wrists - still cuffed. “I need to let go. I need to get over… over my addiction.”

“Then… how do you?” Cas asked, before turning to Dean. “What do we do?”

“I think he’s right. I think he gotta… he gotta decide enough is enough. And then we can all follow the Yellow Brick Freaking Road home.”

Cas turned, holding Crowley’s face. “You can do it. I know you can. Come on, Crowley. We have our homes to fix, and the rest of our lives to live. I don’t want to spend it in here.”

Crowley lifted his hands up, cupping Cas’ face in return. Dean jumped, because all the chains were suddenly gone. Wow. Apparently all that New Age crap about positive thinking really worked. “I’d say ‘get a room’, but you do got one, with me hitched to you, so if we could maybe…”

Dean sat up, heart pounding.

***

“Dean!” Sam was sitting right there, and when Dean jumped upright, tugging at the silk knotted around his wrist, he went straight over to help. 

“How long was I gone?”

“A day.”

“...shit, really?”

“Yeah. How did it--?”

But then Crowley, followed by Cas, bolted straight upright, answering the question. Cas threw himself against Crowley’s chest, and they cuddled for a moment, whispering quiet somethings back and forth.

“Okay,” Sam said. “Great.”

When they’d finished hugging it out, Crowley leaned over, tapping his fingers against Dean’s bicep. Dean frowned, but when he met the demon’s eyes, it was to the surprise of a little sincere nod of thanks, before he lowered his hand and looked over to Sam.

“So, Moose, what did we miss?”

“Not much, but your phone’s been going crazy. I answered it when Cecily wouldn’t stop ringing, but she just… she just flipped out at the thought you were locked up again.”

“Ah, poor thing. She’s… she’s suffered a bit, recently. Go easy on her, won’t you?” Crowley asked.

“Yes. She is bereaved,” Cas agreed. “But we need to know what she wanted.”

“Permission to bring her back?” Crowley asked, looking from one brother to the other.

Sam looked to Dean, and Dean shrugged. “Sure. Why not. Just invite half of Hell here, not like it’s a secret bunker or anything.”

“Oh, please… she already knows where it is, but that’s cute.” Crowley kissed Cas quickly on the lips. “Kitten, may I--?”

“Go,” Cas said, with a nod. “She will be safer here from Abaddon, anyway.”

“Be right back.”

Crowley vanished with a blink, and Cas was left toeing at the sheets some more. 

“I… should say thank you, Dean,” Cas said, eventually. His eyes were lowered, but he forced them back up. “For coming in to save us.”

“Well, I did it for you, but… you’re welcome.”

“It… does mean a lot to me, you know? It does. I would like you both to approve of my relationship with Crowley, though I understand why you have your reservations.”

“What we did to him was wrong,” Sam said, slowly. “Maybe we can all… start over?”

Cas’ smile was so shy, but so warm, that it hurt Dean to look at it. “Yes. Please. I would like that.”

Dean was about to reply, but all of a sudden Crowley appeared, with a harried looking Cecily in tow.

“Tell them what you told me,” he urged her.

Cecily looked pale, and she swallowed hard. “It’s… it’s Abaddon.”

“What about her?” Sam asked.

“She… _she let Lucifer out_.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work is now part of a series and is continued in Ad Mundum Nostrum Nunc (soon to be published.)
> 
>   
> 


End file.
